Ape. Then thou lyest: Looke in thy last worke, where thou hast feign'd him a worthy Fellow
Poet. That's not feign'd, he is so
Ape. Yes he is worthy of thee, and to pay thee for thy labour. He that loues to be flattered, is worthy o'th flatterer. Heauens, that I were a Lord
Tim. What wouldst do then Apemantus?
Ape. E'ne as Apemantus does now, hate a Lord with
my heart
Tim. What thy selfe?
Ape. I
Tim. Wherefore?
Ape. That I had no angry wit to be a Lord.
Art not thou a Merchant?
Mer. I Apemantus
Ape. Traffick confound thee, if the Gods will not
Mer. If Trafficke do it, the Gods do it
Ape. Traffickes thy God, & thy God confound thee.
Trumpet sounds. Enter a Messenger.