APEMANTUS.
He wrought better that made the painter, and yet he’s but a filthy piece of work.
PAINTER.
You’re a dog.
APEMANTUS.
Thy mother’s of my generation. What’s she, if I be a dog?
TIMON.
Wilt dine with me, Apemantus?
APEMANTUS.
No, I eat not lords.
TIMON.
An thou shouldst, thou’dst anger ladies.
APEMANTUS.
O, they eat lords. So they come by great bellies.
TIMON.
That’s a lascivious apprehension.
APEMANTUS.
So thou apprehend’st it, take it for thy labour.
TIMON.
How dost thou like this jewel, Apemantus?