Athens. A hall in Timon’s house.
(Steward Flavius; Caphis; Servant of Isidore; Varro’s First Servant; Varro’s Second Servant; Timon; Alcibiades; Apemantus; Fool; Timon’s Page; Flaminius; Servilius; Timon’s Servant)
Flavius is distracted by the sheer number of bills being given to him. When Timon comes in from hunting he is importuned by a number of servants handing in their respective masters’ calls for repayment. He cannot understand their pressure. Flavius asks the servants for a bit of time so he can explain matters to Timon, and they agree. They pass the time mocking and being mocked by Apemantus. Timon and Flavius return, the master upbraiding Flavius for not telling him earlier just how poor he actually is and Flavius pointing out that he tried but Timon would never listen. Timon orders Flavius to sell all of Timon’s land, but it has all been mortgaged already. Flavius lectures him until Timon finally stops him. He reassures himself with the thought that at least he spent out of generosity. He sends servants to ask some of his friends to help him out. Flavius tells him he has tried this already, but Timon is certain they will not desert him. (219 lines)
Enter Steward Flavius with many bills in his hand.
No care, no stop, so senseless of expense,
That he will neither know how to maintain it,
Nor cease his flow of riot. Takes no accompt
How things go from him, nor resumes no care
Of what is to continue. Never mind
Was to be so unwise, to be so kind.
What shall be done, he will not hear, till feel.
I must be round with him, now he comes from hunting.
Fie, fie, fie, fie!
Enter Caphis and the Servants of Isidore and Varro.
Good even, Varro. What,
You come for money?
Is’t not your business too?
It is; and yours too, Isidore?
It is so.
Would we were all discharg’d!
I fear it.
Here comes the lord.
Enter Timon and his Train with Alcibiades.
So soon as dinner’s done, we’ll forth again,
My Alcibiades.—With me, what is your will?
My lord, here is a note of certain dues.
Dues? Whence are you?
Of Athens here, my lord.
Go to my steward.
Please it your lordship, he hath put me off
To the succession of new days this month.
My master is awak’d by great occasion
To call upon his own, and humbly prays you
That with your other noble parts you’ll suit
In giving him his right.
Mine honest friend,
I prithee but repair to me next morning.
Nay, good my lord—
Contain thyself, good friend.
One Varro’s servant, my good lord—
He humbly prays your speedy payment.
If you did know, my lord, my master’s wants—
’Twas due on forfeiture, my lord, six weeks
Your steward puts me off, my lord,
And I am sent expressly to your lordship.
Give me breath.
I do beseech you, good my lords, keep on,
I’ll wait upon you instantly.
Exeunt Alcibiades and Lords.
Come hither. Pray you,
How goes the world, that I am thus encount’red
With clamorous demands of debt, broken bonds,
And the detention of long since due debts,
Against my honor?
Please you, gentlemen,
The time is unagreeable to this business.
Your importunacy cease till after dinner,
That I may make his lordship understand
Wherefore you are not paid.
Do so, my friends. See them well entertain’d.
Pray draw near.
Enter Apemantus and Fool.
Stay, stay, here comes the Fool with
Apemantus, let’s ha’ some sport with ’em.
Hang him, he’ll abuse us.
A plague upon him, dog!
How dost, Fool?
Dost dialogue with thy shadow?
I speak not to thee.
No, ’tis to thyself.
To the Fool.
To Varro’s Servant.
There’s the Fool hangs on your back already.
No, thou stand’st single, th’ art not on him yet.
Where’s the Fool now?
He last ask’d the question. Poor rogues, and usurers’ men, bawds between gold and want!
What are we, Apemantus?
That you ask me what you are, and do not know yourselves. Speak to ’em, Fool.
How do you, gentlemen?
Gramercies, good Fool; how does your mistress?
She’s e’en setting on water to scald such chickens as you are. Would we could see you at Corinth!
Enter Timon’s Page.
Look you, here comes my master’s page.
To the Fool.
Why, how now, captain? What do you in this wise company? How dost thou, Apemantus?
Would I had a rod in my mouth, that I might answer thee profitably.
Prithee, Apemantus, read me the superscription of these letters, I know not which is which.
Canst not read?
There will little learning die then that day thou art hang’d. This is to Lord Timon, this to Alcibiades. Go, thou wast born a bastard, and thou’t die a bawd.
Thou wast whelp’d a dog, and thou shalt famish a dog’s death. Answer not, I am gone.
E’en so thou outrun’st grace. Fool, I will go with you to Lord Timon’s.
Will you leave me there?
If Timon stay at home. You three serve three usurers?
Ay, would they serv’d us!
So would I—as good a trick as ever hangman serv’d thief.
Are you three usurers’ men?
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 master’s house merrily, and go away sadly. The reason of this?
I could render one.
Do it then, that we may account thee a whoremaster and a knave, which notwithstanding, thou shalt be no less esteem’d.
What is a whoremaster, Fool?
A fool in good clothes, and something like thee. ’Tis a spirit; sometime’t appears like a lord, sometime like a lawyer, sometime like a philosopher, with two stones more than ’s 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.
Thou art not altogether a fool.
Nor thou altogether a wise man; as much foolery as I have, so much wit thou lack’st.
That answer might have become Apemantus.
Aside, aside, here comes Lord Timon.
Enter Timon and Steward Flavius.
Come with me, Fool, come.
I do not always follow lover, elder brother, and woman; sometime the philosopher.
Exeunt Apemantus and Fool.
Pray you walk near, I’ll speak with you anon.
You make me marvel wherefore ere this time
Had you not fully laid my state before me,
That I might so have rated my expense
As I had leave of means.
You would not hear me;
At many leisures I propos’d.
Perchance some single vantages you took,
When my indisposition put you back,
And that unaptness made your minister
Thus to excuse yourself.
O my good lord,
At many times I brought in my accompts,
Laid them before you; you would throw them off,
And say you found them in mine honesty.
When for some trifling present you have bid me
Return so much, I have shook my head, and wept;
Yea, ’gainst th’ authority of manners, pray’d you
To hold your hand more close. I did endure
Not seldom, nor no slight checks, when I have
Prompted you in the ebb of your estate
And your great flow of debts. My lov’d 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.
Let all my land be sold.
’Tis all engag’d, 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 reck’ning?
To Lacedaemon did my land extend.
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!
You tell me true.
If you suspect my husbandry or falsehood,
Call me before th’ exactest auditors,
And set me on the proof. So the gods bless me,
When all our offices have been oppress’d
With riotous feeders, when our vaults have wept
With drunken spilth of wine, when every room
Hath blaz’d with lights and bray’d with minstrelsy,
I have retir’d me to a wasteful cock,
And set mine eyes at flow.
Prithee no more.
Heavens, have I said, the bounty of this lord!
How many prodigal bits have slaves and peasants
This night englutted! Who is not Timon’s?
What heart, head, sword, force, means, but is Lord Timon’s?
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 show’rs,
These flies are couch’d.
Come, sermon me no further.
No villainous bounty yet hath pass’d my heart;
Unwisely, not ignobly, have I given.
Why dost thou weep? Canst thou the conscience lack
To think I shall lack friends? Secure thy heart;
If I would broach the vessels of my love,
And try the argument of hearts, by borrowing,
Men and men’s fortunes could I frankly use
As I can bid thee speak.
Assurance bless your thoughts!
And in some sort these wants of mine are crown’d,
That I account them blessings; for by these
Shall I try friends. You shall perceive how you
Mistake my fortunes; I am wealthy in my friends.
Within there! Flaminius! Servilius!
Enter three servants: Flaminius, Servilius, and Timon’s Servant.
My lord? My lord?
I will dispatch you severally: to Servilius you to Lord Lucius; to Flaminius to Lord Lucullus you—I hunted with his honor today; to the other you to Sempronius. Commend me to their loves; and I am proud, say, that my occasions have found time to use ’em toward a supply of money. Let the request be fifty talents.
As you have said, my lord.
Exeunt the three servants.
Lord Lucius and Lucullus? Humh!
Go you, sir, to the senators—
Of whom, even to the state’s best health, I have
Deserv’d this hearing—bid ’em send o’ th’ instant
A thousand talents to me.
I have been bold
(For that I knew it the most general way)
To them to use your signet and your name,
But they do shake their heads, and I am here
No richer in return.
Is’t true? Can ’t be?
They answer, in a joint and corporate voice,
That now they are at fall, want treasure, cannot
Do what they would, are sorry; you are honorable,
But yet they could have wish’d—they know not—
Something hath been amiss—a noble nature
May catch a wrench—would all were well—’tis pity—
And so, intending other serious matters,
After distasteful looks, and these hard fractions,
With certain half-caps and cold-moving nods,
They froze me into silence.
You gods, reward them!
Prithee, man, look cheerly. These old fellows
Have their ingratitude in them hereditary:
Their blood is cak’d, ’tis cold, it seldom flows;
’Tis lack of kindly warmth they are not kind;
And nature, as it grows again toward earth,
Is fashion’d for the journey, dull and heavy.
Go to Ventidius. (Prithee be not sad,
Thou art true and honest; ingeniously I speak,
No blame belongs to thee.) Ventidius lately
Buried his father, by whose death he’s stepp’d
Into a great estate. When he was poor,
Imprison’d, and in scarcity of friends,
I clear’d him with five talents. Greet him from me,
Bid him suppose some good necessity
Touches his friend, which craves to be rememb’red
With those five talents. That had, give’t these fellows
To whom ’tis instant due. Nev’r speak or think
That Timon’s fortunes ’mong his friends can sink.
I would I could not think it! That thought is bounty’s foe;
Being free itself, it thinks all others so.