Var. Serv.
Well met; good-morrow, Titus and Hortensius.

Tit.
The like to you, kind Varro.

Hor.
Lucius?
What, do we meet together?

Luc. Serv.
Ay; and, I think,
One business does command us all, for mine
Is money.

Tit.
So is theirs, and ours. Enter Philotus.

Luc. Serv.
And, sir,
Philotus too!

Phi.
Good day at once.

Luc. Serv.
Welcome, good brother.

What do you think the hour?

Phi.
Labouring for nine.

Luc. Serv.
So much?

Phi.
Is not my lord seen yet?

Luc. Serv.
Not yet.

Phi.
I wonder on't: he was wont to shine at seven.

Luc. Serv.
Ay, but the days are waxed shorter with him:
You must consider, that a prodigal course
Is like the sun's; but not, like his, recoverable.
I fear, 'tis deepest winter in lord Timon's purse;
That is, one may reach deep enough, and yet
Find little.

Phi.
I am of your fear for that.

Tit.
I'll show you how t' observe a strange event.
Your lord sends now for money.

Hor.
Most true, he does.

Tit.
And he wears jewels now of Timon's gift,
For which I wait for money.

Hor.
It is against my heart.

Luc. Serv.
Mark, how strange it shows,
Timon in this should pay more than he owes:
And e'en as if your lord should wear rich jewels,
And send for money for 'em.

Hor.
I'm weary of this charge, the gods can witness:
I know, my lord hath spent of Timon's wealth,
And now ingratitude makes it worse than stealth.

1 Var. Serv.
Yes, mine's three thousand crowns; what's yours?

Luc. Serv.
Five thousand mine.

1 Var. Serv.
'Tis much deep: and it should seem by the sum,
Your master's confidence was above mine;
Else, surely, his had equall'd^{1 note}.

Enter Flaminius.

Tit.

One of lord Timon's men.

Luc. Serv.

Flaminius! Sir, a word. Pray, is my lord ready to come forth?

Flam.

No, indeed, he is not.

Tit.

We attend his lordship: pray, signify so much.

Flam.

I need not tell him that; he knows, you are too diligent.

Luc. Serv.
Ha! is not that his Steward muffled so?
He goes away in a cloud: call him, call him.

Tit.
Do you hear, sir?

1 Var. Serv.
By your leave, sir,—

Flav.
What do you ask of me, my friend?

Tit.
We wait for certain money here, sir.

Flav.
Ay,
If money were as certain as your waiting,
'Twere sure enough. Why then preferr'd you not
Your sums and bills, when your false masters ate
Of my lord's meat? Then, they could smile, and fawn
Upon his debts, and take down the interest
Into their gluttonous maws. You do yourselves but wrong,
To stir me up; let me pass quietly:
Believe't, my lord and I have made an end;
I have no more to reckon, he to spend.

Luc. Serv.
Ay, but this answer will not serve.

Flav.
If 'twill not serve,
'Tis not so base as you; for you serve knaves. [Exit.

1 Var. Serv.

How! what does his cashier'd worship mutter?

2 Var. Serv.

No matter what: he's poor, and that's revenge enough. Who can speak broader than he that has no house to put his head in? such may rail against great buildings.

Enter Servilius.

Tit.

O! here's Servilius; now we shall know some answer.

Ser.

If I might beseech you, gentlemen, to repair some other hour, I should derive much from't; for, take't of my soul, my lord leans wondrously to discontent. His comfortable temper has forsook him: he's much out of health, and keeps his chamber.

Luc. Serv.
Many do keep their chambers, are not sick:
And if it be so far beyond his health,
Methinks, he should the sooner pay his debts,
And make a clear way to the gods.

Serv.
Good gods!

Tit.
We cannot take this for answer, sir.

Flam. [Within.]
Servilius, help! — my lord! my lord! Enter Timon, in a rage; Flaminius, following.

Tim.
What! are my doors oppos'd against my passage?
Have I been ever free, and must my house
Be my retentive enemy, my gaol?
The place which I have feasted, does it now,
Like all mankind, show me an iron heart?

Luc. Serv.
Put in now, Titus.

Tit.
My lord, here is my bill.

Luc. Serv.
Here's mine.

Hor. Serv.
And mine, my lord^{2 note}.

Both Var. Serv.
And ours, my lord.

Phi.
All our bills.

Tim.
Knock me down with 'em: cleave me to the girdle.

Luc. Serv.
Alas! my lord,—

Tim.
Cut my heart in sums.

Tit.
Mine, fifty talents.

Tim.
Tell out my blood.

Luc. Serv.
Five thousand crowns, my lord.

Tim.
Five thousand drops pays that.—
What yours?—and yours?

1 Var. Serv.
My lord,—

2 Var. Serv.
My lord,—

Tim.
Tear me, take me; and the gods fall upon you! [Exit.

Hor.

Faith, I perceive our masters may throw their caps at their money: these debts may well be called desperate ones, for a madman owes 'em.