hath pleas’d the gods to remember my father’s age,
And call him to long peace.
He is gone happy, and has left me rich:
Then, as in grateful virtue I am bound
To your free heart, I do return those talents,
Doubled with thanks and service, from whose help
I deriv’d liberty.
TIMON.
O! by no means,
Honest Ventidius: you mistake my love;
I gave it freely ever; and there’s none
Can truly say he gives, if he receives:
If our betters play at that game, we must not dare
To imitate them; faults that are rich are fair.
VENTIDIUS.
A noble spirit.
[They all stand ceremoniously looking on TIMON.]
TIMON.
Nay, my lords, ceremony was but devis’d at first
To set a gloss on faint deeds, hollow welcomes,
Recanting goodness, sorry ere ’tis shown;
But where there is true friendship there needs none.
Pray, sit; more welcome are ye to my fortunes
Than my fortunes to me.
[They sit.]
FIRST LORD.
My lord, we always have confess’d it.
APEMANTUS.
Ho, ho! confess’d it; hang’d it, have you not?
TIMON.
O! Apemantus, you are welcome.
APEMANTUS.
No,
You shall not make me welcome:
I come to have thee thrust me out of doors.
TIMON.
Fie! thou’rt a churl; ye’ve got a humour there
Does not become a man; ’tis much to blame.
They say, my lords, Ira furor brevis est;
But yond man is ever angry.
Go, let him have a table by himself;
For he does neither affect company,
Nor is he fit for it, indeed.
APEMANTUS.
Let me stay at thine apperil, Timon:
I come to observe; I give thee warning on’t.
TIMON.
I take no heed of thee; thou’rt an Athenian, therefore, welcome.
I myself would have no power; prithee; let my meat make thee
silent.
APEMANTUS.
I scorn thy meat; ‘t’would choke me, for I should
Ne’er flatter thee. O you gods! what a number
Of men eats Timon, and he sees ’em not!
It grieves me to see so many dip their meat
In one man’s blood; and all the madness is,
He cheers them up too.
I wonder men dare trust themselves with men:
Methinks they should invite them without knives;
Good for their meat, and safer for their lives.
There’s much example for ‘t; the fellow that
Sits next him now, parts bread with him, pledges
The breath of him in a divided draught,
Is the readiest man to kill him: ‘t has been prov’d.
If I were a huge man, I should fear to drink at meals;
Lest they should spy my wind-pipe’s dangerous notes:
Great men should drink with harness on their throats.
TIMON.
My lord, in heart; and let the health go round.
SECOND LORD.
Let it flow this way, my good lord.
APEMANTUS.
Flow this way! A brave fellow! he keeps his tides well. Those
healths will make thee and thy state look ill, Timon.
Here’s that which is too weak to be a sinner,
Honest water, which ne’er left man i’ the mire:
This and my food are equals; there’s no odds:
Feasts are too proud to give thanks to the gods.
Immortal gods, I crave no pelf;
I pray for no man but myself.
Grant I may never prove so fond
To trust man on his oath or bond;
Or a harlot for her weeping;
Or a dog that seems a-sleeping;
Or a keeper with my freedom;
Or my friends, if I should need ’em.
Amen. So fall to’t.
Rich men sin, and I eat root.
[Eats and drinks.]
Much good dich thy good heart, Apemantus!
TIMON.
Captain Alcibiades, your heart’s in the field now.
ALCIBIADES.
My heart is ever at your service, my lord.
TIMON.
You had rather be at a breakfast of enemies than a dinner of
friends.
ALCIBIADES.
So they were bleeding–new, my lord, there’s no meat
like ‘em: I could wish my best friend at such a feast.
APEMANTUS.
'Would all those flatterers were thine enemies then, that
then thou mightst kill ‘em, and bid me to ’em.
FIRST LORD.
Might we but have that happiness, my lord, that you
would once use our hearts, whereby we might express some part of
our zeals, we should think ourselves for ever perfect.
TIMON.
O, no doubt, my good friends, but the gods themselves have
provided that I shall have much help from you: how had you been
my friends else? why have you that charitable title from
thousands, did not you chiefly belong to my heart? I have told
more of you to myself than you can with modesty speak in your own
behalf; and thus far I confirm you. O you gods! think I, what
need we have any friends if we should ne’er have need of ’em?
they were the most needless creatures living, should we ne’er
have use for ’em; and would most resemble sweet instruments hung
up in cases, that keep their sounds to themselves. Why, I have
often wished myself poorer that I might come nearer to you. We
are born to do benefits; and what better or properer can we call
our own than the riches of our friends? O! what a precious
comfort ’tis to have so many, like brothers, commanding