Sen.
And late, five thousand to Varro; and to Isidore
He owes nine thousand; besides my former sum,

Which makes it five and twenty.—Still in motion
Of raging waste? It cannot hold; it will not.
If I want gold, steal but a beggar's dog,
And give it Timon, why, the dog coins gold:
If I would sell my horse, and buy twenty^{2 note} more
Better than he, why, give my horse to Timon,
Ask nothing, give it him, it foals me, straight,
And able horses^{3 note}

But rather one that smiles, and still invites^{4 note}

Caph.
Here, sir; What is your pleasure?

Sen.
Get on your cloak, and haste you to lord Timon;
Impórtune him for my monies; be not ceas'd^{6 note}

With slight denial; nor then silenc'd, when—
Commend me to your master—and the cap
Plays in the right hand, thus:—but tell him, sirrah^{7 note},
My uses cry to me, I must serve my turn
Out of mine own; his days and times are past,
And my reliances on his fracted dates
Have smit my credit: I love, and honour him;
But must not break my back, to heal his finger:
Immediate are my needs; and my relief
Must not be toss'd and turn'd to me in words,
But find supply immediate. Get you gone:
Put on a most importunate aspéct,
A visage of demand; for, I do fear,
When every feather sticks in his own wing,
Lord Timon will be left a naked gull^{8 note}

Which flashes^{9 note} now a phœnix. Get you gone.

Caph.
I go, sir.

Sen.
I go, sir^{1 note}

Caph.
I will, sir.

Sen.
Go. [Exeunt.

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