Tit. And he wears jewels now of Timon's gift, For which I wait for mony. Hor. Againft my heart. Tit. How ftrange it fhews, Timon in this fhould pay Hor. I'm weary of this charge, the Gods can witnefs: I know my Lord hath spent of Timon's wealth, Ingratitude now makes it worse than stealth. Var. Yes, mine's three thousand crowns: what's yours? Luc. Five thousand. 4 Var. 'Tis much too deep, and it should seem by th' fum, Your mafter's confidence was above mine, Elfe furely his had equall'd. Enter Flaminius. Tit. One of Lord Timon's men. Luc. Flaminius! Sir, a word: pray is my Lord Ready to come forth? Flam. No, indeed he is not. Tit. We attend his Lordship; pray fignifie so much. Flam. I need not tell him that, he knows you are Too diligent. Enter Flavius in a cloak muffled. Luc. Ha! is not that his fteward muffled fo? He goes away in a cloud: call him, call him. Tit. Do you hear, Sir Var. By your leave, Sir.. Flav. What do you ask of me, my friend? Tit. We wait for certain mony here, Sir. Flav. If mony were as certain as your waiting, "Twere fure enough." Why then preferr'd you not your fums and bills, Luc. Ay, but this anfwer will not ferve. : For Flav. If 'twill not ferve, 'tis not fo bafe as you, you ferve knaves. [Exit. Var. How! what does his cafhier'd Worfhip mutter? Tit. No matter what-he's poor, and that's revenge enough. Who can speak broader than he that has no houfe to put his head in? fuch may rail against great buildings. Enter Servilius. Tit. Oh, here's Servilius ; now we shall have fome answer. Ser. If I might befeech you, gentlemen, to repair fome other hour, I fhould derive much from it. For take it of my foul, My Lord leans wondrously to discontent: His comfortable temper has forfook him, He is much out of health, and keeps his chamber.' Methinks he should the fooner pay his debts, And make a clear way to the Gods. Ser. Good Gods! Tit. We cannot take this for an answer. Flam. [Within.] Servilius, help-my Lord! my Lord! SCENE V. Enter Timon in a rage. Tim. What, are my doors oppos'd against my paffage ? Have I been ever free, and muft my house Be my retentive enemy, my goal? The place which I have feafted, does it now Tit. My Lord, here's my bill. Luc. Here's mine. Var. And mine, my Lord, Phi. And our bills. Tim. Knock me down with 'em. Luc. Alas, my Lord. Tim. Cut out my heart in fums. Tim. Tell out my blood, - cleave me to the girdle. Luc. Lue. Five thousand crowns, my Lord. Tim. Five thousand drops pay that. What's yours- and yours? Var. My Lord· Tim. Here, tear me, take me, and the Gods fall on you! [Exit. Hor. 'Faith, I perceive our masters may throw their caps at their mony; these debts may be well call'd defperate ones, for a mad man owes 'em. [Exeunt. Re-enter Timon and Flavius. Tim. They have e'en put my breath from me, the slaves. Creditors! devils. Flav. My dear Lord. Tim. What if it fhould be fo Flav. My dear Lord. Tim. I'll have it fo- My fteward! Flav. Here, my Lord. Tim. So fitly! Go, bid all my friends again, Lucius, Lucullus, and Sempronius. I'll once more feast the rafcals, Flav, O my Lord! All. You only speak from your diftracted foul; Tim. Be it not thy care: Go, and invite them all, let in the tide Of knaves once more; my cook and I'll provide. [Exeunt, Sen. My Lord, you have my voice to't, the fault's 'Tis neceffary he should die: Nothing emboldens fin fo much as mercy. 2 Sen. Moft true; the law fhall bruise him. [bloody; Alc. Health, honour, and compaffion to the fenate! Sen. Now, captain. Alc. I am an humble fuitor to your virtues, For pity is the virtue of the law, And none but tyrants use it cruelly. It pleases time and fortune to lye heavy Upon Upon a friend of mine, who in hot blood Of virtuous honour, which buys out his fault; And with fuch fober and unnoted paffion 1 Sen. You undergo too ftrict a paradox, Striving to make an ugly deed look fair: Your words have took fuch pains, as if they labour Is valour mis-begot, and came into th' world The worst that man can breathe, and make his wrongs To bring it into danger. If wrongs be evils, and enforce us kill, 1 Sen. You cannot make grofs fins look clear, It is not valour to revenge, but bear. Alc. My Lords, then under favour, pardon me, Why do fond men expofe themselves to battel, D If If wisdom be in fuff'ring. Oh my Lords, Who cannot condemn rafhnefs in cold blood? But who is man, that is not angry? Alc. I fay, my Lords, h'as done fair fervice; flain How full of valour did he bear himself In the last conflict, and made plenteous wounds? Oft' drowns him, and takes valour prifoner. Alc. Hard fate! he might have dy'd in war. (Though his right arm might purchase his own time, My honours to you, on his good returns. 1 Sen. We are for law, he dies, urge it no more, Als. |