APEMANTUS.
Art not a poet?
POET.
Yes.
APEMANTUS.
Then thou liest. Look in thy last work, where thou hast feigned him a worthy fellow.
POET.
That’s not feigned, he is so.
APEMANTUS.
Yes, he is worthy of thee, and to pay thee for thy labour. He that loves to be flattered is worthy o’ th’ flatterer. Heavens, that I were a lord!
TIMON.
What wouldst do then, Apemantus?
APEMANTUS.
E’en as Apemantus does now, hate a lord with my heart.
TIMON.
What, thyself?
APEMANTUS.
Ay.
TIMON.
Wherefore?