Will you be chid?

Jew.
We'll bear it with your lordship.

Mer.
He'll spare none.

Tim.
Good-morrow to thee, gentle Apemantus!

Apem.
'Till I be gentle, stay for thy good-morrow,
When thou art Timon's dog, and these knaves honest.

Tim.
Why dost thou call them knaves, thou know'st them not?

Apem.
Are they not Athenians?

Tim.
Yes.

Apem.
Then I repent not.

Jew.
You know me, Apemantus.

Apem.
Thou know'st I do, I call'd thee by thy name.

Tim.
Thou art proud, Apemantus.

Apem.

Of nothing so much, as that I am not like Timon.

Tim.
Whither art going?

Apem.

To knock out an honest Athenian's brains.

Tim.
That's a deed thou'lt die for.

Apem.

Right, if doing nothing be death by the law.

Tim.
How lik'st thou this picture, Apemantus?

Apem.

The best, for the innocence.

Tim.
Wrought he not well that painted it?

Apem.

He wrought better that made the painter, and yet he's but a filthy piece of work.

Pain.

Y'are a dog.

Apem.

Thy mother's of my generation: what's she, if I be a dog.

Tim.

Wilt dine with me, Apemantus?

Apem.

No, I eat not lords.

Tim.

If thou should'st, thou'dst anger ladies.

Apem.

O, they eat lords, so they come by great bellies.

Tim.

That's a lascivious apprehension.

Apem.

So thou apprehend'st it. Take it for thy labour.

Tim.

How dost thou like this jewel, Apemantus?

Apem.

Not so well as plain-dealing, which will not cost a man a doit.

Tim.

What dost thou think 'tis worth?

Apem.

Not worth my thinking—How now, poet?

Poet.

How now, philosopher?

Apem.

Thou liest.

Poet.

Art thou one?

Apem.

Yes.

Poet.

Then I lie not.

Apem.

Art not a poet?

Poet.

Yes.

Apem.

Then thou liest: look in thy last work, where thou hast feign'd him a worthy fellow.

Poet.

That's not feign'd, he is so.

Apem.

Yes, he is worthy of thee, and to pay thee for thy labour. He that loves to be flattered is worthy o'th' flatterer. Heav'ns, that I were a lord!

Tim.

What would'st do then, Apemantus?

Apem.

Ev'n as Apemantus does now, hate a lord with my heart.

Tim.

What, thy self?

Apem.

Ay.

Tim.

Wherefore?

Apem.
That I had no angry wit to be a lord.
Art thou not a merchant?

Mer.
Ay, Apemantus.

Apem.
Traffick confound thee, if the gods will not.

Mer.
If traffick do it, the gods do it.

Apem.
Traffick's thy god, and thy god confound thee. Trumpets sound. Enter a messenger.

Tim.
What trumpet's that?

Mes.
'Tis Alcibiades, and some twenty horse,
All of companionship.

Tim.
Pray entertain them, give them guide to us;
You must needs dine with me: go not you hence
'Till I have thankt you; and when dinner's done
Shew me this piece. I'm joyful of your sights. Enter Alcibiades with the rest.
Most welcome Sir! [Bowing and embracing.

Apem.

So, so! Aches contract, and starve your supple joints! that there should be small love amongst these sweet knaves, and all this courtesie! the strain of man's bred out into baboon and monkey.

Alc.
You have sav'd my longing, and I feed
Most hungerly on your sight.

Tim.
Right welcome, Sir.
Ere we depart, we'll share a bounteous time
In different pleasures. Pray you let us in. [Exeunt.

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