Athens. A Room in TIMON’S House. | |
| |
Enter FLAVIUS, with two or three Servants. | |
| First Serv. Hear you, Master steward! where’s our master? | |
| Are we undone? cast off? nothing remaining? | 4 |
| Flav. Alack! my fellows, what should I say to you? | |
| Let me be recorded by the righteous gods, | |
| I am as poor as you. | |
| First Serv. Such a house broke! | 8 |
| 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 turn our backs | 12 |
| From our companion thrown into his grave, | |
| So his familiars to his buried fortunes | |
| Slink all away, leave their false vows with him, | |
| Like empty purses pick’d; and his poor self, | 16 |
| A dedicated beggar to the air, | |
| With his disease of all-shunn’d poverty, | |
| Walks, like contempt, alone. More of our fellows. | |
| |
Enter other Servants. | 20 |
| 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, | |
| Serving alike in sorrow. Leak’d is our bark, | 24 |
| And we, poor mates, stand on the dying deck, | |
| Hearing the surges threat: we must all part | |
| Into this sea of air. | |
| Flav. Good fellows all, | 28 |
| 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 our heads, and say, | |
| As ’twere a knell unto our master’s fortunes, | 32 |
| ‘We have seen better days.’ Let each take some; [Giving them money. | |
| Nay, put out all your hands. Not one word more: | |
| Thus part we rich in sorrow, parting poor. [They embrace, and part several ways. | |
| O! the fierce wretchedness that glory brings us. | 36 |
| Who would not wish to be from wealth exempt, | |
| Since riches point to misery and contempt? | |
| Who would be so mock’d with glory? or so live, | |
| But in a dream of friendship? | 40 |
| To have his pomp and all what state compounds | |
| But only painted, like his varnish’d friends? | |
| Poor honest lord! brought low by his own heart, | |
| Undone by goodness. Strange, unusual blood, | 44 |
| When man’s worst sin is he does too much good! | |
| Who then dares to be half so kind agen? | |
| For bounty, that makes gods, does still mar men. | |
| My dearest lord, bless’d, to be most accurs’d, | 48 |
| Rich, only to be wretched, thy great fortunes | |
| Are made thy chief afflictions. Alas! kind lord, | |
| He’s flung in rage from this ingrateful seat | |
| Of monstrous friends; | 52 |
| Nor has he with him to supply his life, | |
| Or that which can command it. | |
| I’ll follow and inquire him out: | |
| I’ll ever serve his mind with my best will; | 56 |
| Whilst I have gold I’ll be his steward still. [Exit. | |
