Fool. How do you, gentlemen? All Ser. Gramercies,1 good fool: how does your mistress? Fool. She's ev'n setting on water to scald such chickens as you are. Corinth! Would, we could see you at Ape. Good! gramercy. Enter PAGE. Fool. Look you, here comes my mistress' page. Page. [to the Fool.] Why, how now, captain! what do you in this wise company?-How dost thou, Apemantus ? Ape. Would, I had a rod in my mouth, that I might answer thee profitably! Page. Pr'ythee, Apemantus, read me the superscription of these letters; I know not which is which. Ape. Canst not read ? Page. No. Ape. There will little learning die then, that day thou art hanged. This is to lord Timon; this to Alcibiades. Go: thou wast born a bastard, and thou 'lt die a bawd. Page. Thou wast whelped a dog; and thou shalt famish, a dog's death. Answer not; I am gone. [Exit Page. 1 Contraction for grant me mercy.' Ape. Even so thou outrunnest grace. Fool, I will go with you to lord Timon's. Fool. Will you leave me there? Ape. If Timon stay at home. three usurers? You three serve All Ser. Ay; would they served us! Ape. So would I,—as good a trick as ever hangman served thief. Fool. Are you three usurers' men? All Ser. Ay, fool. Fool. I think, no usurer but has a fool to his servant my mistress is one, and I am her fool. When men come to borrow of your masters, they approach sadly, and go away merry; but they enter my mistress' house merrily, and go away sadly. The reason of this? Var. Ser. I could render one. Ape. Do it then, that we may account thee a whoremaster and a knave; which notwithstanding, thou shalt be no less esteemed. Var. Ser. What is a whoremaster, fool? Fool. A fool in good clothes, and something like thee. 'Tis a spirit: sometime it appears like a lord, sometime like a lawyer, sometime like a philosopher, with two stones more than his artificial one. He is very often like a knight; and, generally, in all shapes, that man goes up and down in, from fourscore to thirteen, this spirit walks in. Var. Ser. Thou art not altogether a fool. Fool. Nor thou altogether a wise man: as much foolery as I have, so much wit thou lackest. Ape. That answer might have become Apemantus. Re-enter TIMON and FLAVIUS. Ape. Come with me, fool, come. Fool. I do not always follow lover, elder brother, and woman; sometime the philosopher. [Exeunt Apemantus and Fool. Flav. Pray you, walk near; I'll speak with you anon. [Exeunt Ser. Timon. You make me marvel. Wherefore, ere this time, Had you not fully laid my state before me; As I had leave of means? Flav. You would not hear me, Go to: At many leisures I proposed. Timon. Perchance, some single vantages you took, Flav. O my good lord! At many times I brought in my accounts, Laid them before you; you would throw them off, 1 A certain sum. Yea, 'gainst the authority of manners, pray'd you And your great flow of debts. My loved lord, Though you hear now, (too late!) yet now's a time, The greatest of your having lacks a half To pay your present debts. Timon. Let all my land be sold. Flav. 'Tis all engaged, some forfeited and gone; And what remains will hardly stop the mouth Of present dues: the future comes apace. What shall defend the interim? and at length How goes our reckoning? Timon. To Lacedæmon did my land extend. Flav. O my good lord, the world is but a word: Were it all yours, to give it in a breath, How quickly were it gone! Timon. You tell me true. Flav. If you suspect my husbandry or falshood, Call me before the exactest auditors, And set me on the proof. So the gods bless me, When all our offices 1 have been oppress'd With riotous feeders; when our vaults have wept With drunken spilth of wine; when every room Hath blazed with lights, and 'bray'd with minstrelsy; Apartments allotted to culinary purposes, &c. I have retired me to a wasteful cock,1 And set mine eyes at flow. Timon. Pr'ythee, no more. Flav. Heavens, have I said, the bounty of this lord! How many prodigal bits have slaves and peasants What heart, head, sword, force, means, but is lord Great Timon, noble, worthy, royal Timon! Ah! when the means are gone, that buy this praise, The breath is gone whereof this praise is made: Feast-won, fast-lost; one cloud of winter showers, These flies are couch'd. Timon. Come, sermon me no farther; No villanous bounty yet hath pass'd my heart; Why dost thou weep? Canst thou the conscience lack, To think I shall lack friends? Secure thy heart; And try the argument 2 of hearts by borrowing, Flav. Assurance bless your thoughts! Timon. And, in some sort, these wants of mine are crown'd,3 1'i. e. a cockloft, or garret lying in waste.'-Warburton. |