Tim. Be a whore still, they loue thee not that vse thee, giue them diseases, leauing with thee their Lust. Make vse of thy salt houres, season the slaues for Tubbes and Bathes, bring downe Rose-cheekt youth to the Fubfast, and the Diet
Timan. Hang thee Monster
Alc. Pardon him sweet Timandra, for his wits
Are drown'd and lost in his Calamities.
I haue but little Gold of late, braue Timon,
The want whereof, doth dayly make reuolt
In my penurious Band. I haue heard and greeu'd
How cursed Athens, mindelesse of thy worth,
Forgetting thy great deeds, when Neighbour states
But for thy Sword and Fortune trod vpon them
Tim. I prythee beate thy Drum, and get thee gone
Alc. I am thy Friend, and pitty thee deere Timon
Tim. How doest thou pitty him whom y dost troble,
I had rather be alone
Alc. Why fare thee well:
Heere is some Gold for thee
Tim. Keepe it, I cannot eate it
Alc. When I haue laid proud Athens on a heape
Tim. Warr'st thou 'gainst Athens