Tim. Teare me, take me, and the Gods fall vpon you.
Exit Timon.
Hort. Faith I perceiue our Masters may throwe their caps at their money, these debts may well be call'd desperate ones, for a madman owes 'em.
Exeunt.
Enter Timon.
Timon. They haue e'ene put my breath from mee the slaues. Creditors? Diuels
Stew. My deere Lord
Tim. What if it should be so?
Stew. My Lord
Tim. Ile haue it so. My Steward?
Stew. Heere my Lord
Tim. So fitly? Go, bid all my Friends againe,
Lucius, Lucullus, and Sempronius Vllorxa: All,
Ile once more feast the Rascals