Enter Philotus.
LUCIUS.
And, sir, Philotus too!
PHILOTUS.
Good day at once.
LUCIUS.
Welcome, good brother.
What do you think the hour?
PHILOTUS.
Labouring for nine.
LUCIUS.
So much?
PHILOTUS.
Is not my lord seen yet?
LUCIUS.
Not yet.
PHILOTUS.
I wonder on’t, he was wont to shine at seven.
LUCIUS.
Ay, but the days are waxed shorter with him.
You must consider that a prodigal course
Is like the sun’s, but not like his recoverable.
I fear ’tis deepest winter in Lord Timon’s purse:
That is, one may reach deep enough, and yet
Find little.