LUCIUS.
Many do keep their chambers are not sick.
And if it be so far beyond his health,
Methinks he should the sooner pay his debts
And make a clear way to the gods.
SERVILIUS.
Good gods!
TITUS.
We cannot take this for answer, sir.
FLAMINIUS.
[Within.] Servilius, help! My lord, my lord!
Enter Timon in a rage.
TIMON.
What, are my doors opposed against my passage?
Have I been ever free, and must my house
Be my retentive enemy, my jail?
The place which I have feasted, does it now,
Like all mankind, show me an iron heart?
LUCIUS.
Put in now, Titus.
TITUS.
My lord, here is my bill.
LUCIUS.
Here’s mine.
HORTENSIUS.
And mine, my lord.