Tim. And you, Gnathonides, still teaching vultures rapacity, and men cunning?
Gna. Ah, he always liked his little joke. But where do you dine? I have brought a new song with me, a march out of the last musical thing on.
Tim. It will be a funeral march, then, and a very touching one, with spade obbligato.
Gna. What means this? This is assault, Timon; just let me find a witness! … Oh, my God, my God! … I’ll have you before the Areopagus for assault and battery.
Tim. You’d better not wait much longer, or you’ll have to make it murder.
Gna. Mercy, mercy! … Now, a little gold ointment to heal the wound; it is a first-rate styptic.
Tim. What! you won’t go, won’t you?
Gna. Oh, I am going. But you shall repent this. Alas, so genial once, and now so rude!
Tim. Now who is this with the bald crown? Why, it is Philiades; if there is a loathsome flatterer, it is he. When I sang that song that nobody else would applaud, he lauded me to the skies, and swore no dying swan could be more tuneful; his reward was one of my farms, and a 500 pounds portion for his daughter. And then when he found I was ill, and had come to him for assistance, his generous aid took the form of blows.
Phil. You shameless creatures! yes, yes, now you know Timon’s merits! now Gnathonides would be his friend and boon-companion! well, he has the right reward of ingratitude. Some of us were his familiars and playmates and neighbours; but we hold back a little; we would not seem to thrust ourselves upon him. Greeting, lord Timon; pray let me warn you against these abominable flatterers; they are your humble servants during meal-times, and else about as useful as carrion crows. Perfidy is the order of the day; everywhere ingratitude and vileness. I was just bringing a couple of hundred pounds, for your immediate necessities, and was nearly here before I heard of your splendid fortune. So I just came on to give you this word of caution; though indeed you are wise enough (I would take your advice before Nestor’s myself) to need none of my counsel.