Villanies of man will set him cleere.

How fairely this Lord strives to appeare foule? Takes Vertuous Copies to be wicked: like those, that under hotte ardent zeale, would set whole Realmes on fire, of such a nature is his politike love.

This was my Lords best hope, now all are fled
Save onely the Gods. Now his Friends are dead,
Doores that were ne're acquainted with their Wards
Many a bounteous yeere, must be imploy'd

Now to guard sure their Master:

And this is all a liberall course allowes,

Who cannot keepe his wealth, must keep his house.

Exit

Enter Varro's man, meeting others. All Timons Creditors to wait
for his comming out. Then enter Lucius and Hortensius.
Var. man. Well met, good morrow Titus & Hortensius.
Tit. The like to you kinde Varro.

Hort. Lucius, what do we meet together?

Luci. I, and I think one businesse do's command us all.

Phil. I wonder on't, he was wont to shine at seaven.
Luci. I, but the dayes are waxt shorter with him:

You must consider, that a Prodigall course

Is like the Sunnes, but not like his recoverable, I feare:

'Tis deepest Winter in Lord Timons purse, that is: One may reach deepe enough, and yet finde little.

Phil.

I am of your feare, for that.

Tit. Ile shew you how t'observe a strange event:

Your Lord sends now for Money?

Hort.

Most true, he doe's.

Tit. And he weares Jewels now of Timons guift, For which I waite for money.

Hort. It is against my heart.

Luci.

Marke how strange it showes,

Timon in this, should pay more then he owes :

And e'ne as if your Lord should weare rich Jewels,
And send for money for 'em.

Hort. I'm weary of this Charge,

The Gods can witnesse :

I know my Lord hath spent of Timons wealth,
And now Ingratitude, makes it worse then stealth.
Varro. Yes, mine's three thousand Crownes:
What's yours?

Varro. 'Tis much deepe, and it should seem by th'sum Your Masters confidence was above mine,

Else surely his had equall'd.

Enter Flaminius,

Tit. One of Lord Timons men.

Luc. Flaminius? Sir, a word: Pray is my Lord readie to come forth?

Flam. No, indeed he is not.

Tit. We attend his Lordship: pray signifie so much.

Flam. I need not tell him that, he knowes you are too diligent.

Enter Steward in a Cloake, muffled.

Luci. Ha: is not that his Steward muffled so?

He

goes away in a Clowd: Call him, call him.

Tit. Do you heare, sir?

2. Varro. By your leave, sir.

aske of

Stew. What do you
me, my Friend.
Tit. We waite for certaine Money heere, sir.

Stew. I, if Money were as certaine as your waiting, 'Twere sure enough.

Why then preferr'd you not your summes and Billes
When your false Masters eate of my Lords meat?
Then they could smile, and fawne upon his debts,
And take downe th'Intrest into their glutt'nous Mawes.
You do your selves but wrong, to stirre me up,
Let me passe quietly:

Beleeve't, my Lord and I have made an end,

I have no more to reckon, he to spend.

Luci. I, but this answer will not serve.

Stew. If't 'twill not serve, 'tis not so base as you, For you serve Knaves.

1. Varro. How? What does his casheer'd Worship mutter? 2. Varro. No matter what, hee's poore, and that's revenge enough. Who can speake broader, then hee that has no house to put his head in? Such may rayle against great buildings.

Enter Servilius.

Tit. Oh heere's Servilius: now wee shall know some answere. Serv. If I might beseech you Gentlemen, to repayre some other houre, I should derive much from't. For tak't of my soule, my Lord leanes wondrously to discontent: His comfortable temper has forsooke him, he's much out of health, and keepes his Chamber.

Luci. Many do keepe their Chambers, are not sicke :

And if it be so farre beyond his health,

Me thinkes he should the sooner pay his debts,

And make a cleere way to the Gods.

Servil.

Good Gods.

Titus. We cannot take this for answer, sir.

Flaminius within. Servilius helpe, my Lord, my Lord.

Enter Timon in a rage.

Tim. What, are my dores oppos'd against my passage? Have I bin ever free, and must my house

Be my retentive Enemy? My Gaole?

The place which I have Feasted, does it now

(Like all Mankinde) shew me an Iron heart?
Luci. Put in now Titus.

Tit. My Lord, heere is my Bill.
Luci. Here's mine.

1. Var. And mine, my Lord.

2. Var. And ours, my Lord.

Philo. All our Billes.

Tim. Knocke me downe with 'em, cleave mee to the Girdle. Luc. Alas, my Lord.

Tim. Cut my heart in summes.

Tit. Mine, fifty Talents.

Tim. Tell out my

blood.

Luc. Five thousand Crownes, my Lord.

Tim. Five thousand drops pays that.

What yours? and yours?

1. Var. My Lord.

2. Var. My Lord.

Tim. Teare me, take me, and the Gods fall upon you.

Exit Timon.

Hort. Faith I perceive our Masters may throwe their caps at their money, these debts may well be call'd desperate ones, for a madman owes 'em.

Enter Timon.

Exeunt.

Timon. They have e'ene put my breath from mee the slaves. Creditors? Divels.

Stew. My deere Lord.

Tim. What if it should be so?

Stew. My Lord.

Tim. Ile have it so. My Steward?

Stew. Heere my Lord.

Tim. So fitly? Go, bid all my Friends againe, Lucius, Lucullus, and Sempronius Ullorxa: All, Ile once more feast the Rascals.

Stew. O my Lord, you onely speake from your distracted soule; there's not so much left to, furnish out a moderate Table.

Tim. Be it not in thy care:

Go I charge thee, invite them all, let in the tide

Of Knaves once more: my Cooke and Ile provide.

Exeunt.

Enter three Senators at one doore, Alcibiades meeting them,

with Attendants.

1. Sen. My Lord, you have my voyce, too't,

The faults Bloody :

'Tis necessary he should dye :

Nothing imboldens sinne so much, as Mercy.

2 Most true; the Law shall bruise 'em.

Alc. Honor, health, and compassion to the Senate.
I Now Captaine.

Alc. I am an humble Sutor to your Vertues ;

For pitty is the vertue of the Law,

And none but Tyrants use it cruelly.

It pleases time and Fortune to lye heavie

Upon a Friend of mine, who in hot blood.
Hath stept into the Law: which is past depth
To those that (without heede) do plundge intoo't.

He is a Man (setting his Fate aside) of comely Vertues,

Nor did he soyle the fact with Cowardice,

(And Honour in him, which buyes out his fault)

But with a Noble Fury, and faire spirit,
Seeing his Reputation touch'd to death,
He did oppose his Foe:

And with such sober and unnoted passion
He did behoove his anger ere 'twas spent,
As if he had but prov'd an Argument.