Tim. They have e'en put my breath from me, the
slaves. Creditors? devils! 105
Flav. My dear lord,—[2206]
Tim. What if it should be so?
Tim. I'll have it so. My steward!
Flav. Here, my lord. 110
Tim. So fitly? Go, bid all my friends again,
Lucius, Lucullus, and Sempronius: all:[2208]
I'll once more feast the rascals.
Flav. O my lord,[2209]
You only speak from your distracted soul;[2209]
There is not so much left, to furnish out[2209][2210] 115
A moderate table.[2209][2211]
Tim. Be it not in thy care;
Go,[2212]
I charge thee, invite them all: let in the tide[2213]
Of knaves once more; my cook and I'll provide. [Exeunt.