Phil. I am of your feare, for that
Tit. Ile shew you how t' obserue a strange euent:
Your Lord sends now for Money?
Hort. Most true, he doe's
Tit. And he weares Iewels now of Timons guift,
For which I waite for money
Hort. It is against my heart
Luci. Marke how strange it showes,
Timon in this, should pay more then he owes:
And e'ne as if your Lord should weare rich Iewels,
And send for money for 'em
Hort. I'me weary of this Charge,
The Gods can witnesse:
I know my Lord hath spent of Timons wealth,
And now Ingratitude, makes it worse then stealth
Varro. Yes, mine's three thousand Crownes:
What's yours?
Luci. Fiue thousand mine
Varro. 'Tis much deepe, and it should seem by th' sum
Your Masters confidence was aboue mine,
Else surely his had equall'd.
Enter Flaminius.
Tit. One of Lord Timons men
Luc. Flaminius? Sir, a word: Pray is my Lord readie
to come forth?
Flam. No, indeed he is not