First Serv.
Hear you, master steward ^note, where's our master?
Are we undone? cast off? nothing remaining?

Flav.
Alack, my fellows, what should I say to you?

Let me ^note be recorded by the righteous gods,
I am as poor as you.

First Serv.
Such a house broke!
So noble a master fall'n! All gone! and not
One friend to take his fortune by the arm,
And go along with him!

Sec. Serv.
As we do ^note turn our backs ^note
From our companion thrown into his grave,
So his familiars ^note to his ^note buried fortunes
Slink all away; leave ^note their false vows with him,
Like empty purses pick'd; and his poor self,
A dedicated beggar to the air,
With his disease of all-shunn'd ^note poverty,
Walks, like ^note contempt, alone. More of our fellows. Enter other Servants.

Flav.
All broken implements of a ruin'd house.

Third Serv.
Yet do our hearts wear Timon's livery;
That see I by our faces; we are fellows still ^note,
Serving alike in sorrow: leak'd is our bark,
And we, poor mates, stand on the dying ^note deck,
Hearing the surges threat: we must all part
Into this ^note sea of air.

Flav.
Good fellows all,
The latest of my wealth I'll share amongst you.
Wherever we shall meet, for Timon's sake
Let's yet be fellows; let's shake ^note our heads, and say,
As 'twere a knell unto our master's fortunes,
‘We have seen better days.’ Let each take some.
Nay, put out all your hands. Not one word more:

Thus part we rich in sorrow, parting poor. [Servants ^note embrace, and part several ways.
O, the fierce ^note wretchedness that glory brings us!
Who would not wish to be from wealth exempt,
Since riches point to misery and contempt?
Who would ^note be so mock'd with glory? or to ^note live
But in a dream of friendship?
To have his ^note pomp and all what state compounds ^note
But only painted, like his varnish'd ^note friends?
Poor honest lord, brought low by his own heart,
Undone by goodness! Strange, unusual blood, ^note
When man's worst sin is, he does too much good!
Who then dares to be half so kind again?
For bounty, that makes gods, does ^note still mar men.
My dearest lord, blest to be most accursed,
Rich only to be wretched, thy great fortunes
Are made thy chief afflictions. Alas ^note, kind lord!
He's flung in rage from this ingrateful ^note seat
Of monstrous friends; nor has ^note he with him ^note to
Supply his life, or that which can command it. ^note
I'll follow ^note, and inquire him out:
I'll ever serve his mind with my best will;
Whilst I have gold, I'll be his steward still. [Exit.

^note

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