“May you never see a better feast,” wished Timon “I wash off the flatteries with which you plastered me and sprinkle you with your villainy.” With these words he threw the water into his guests' faces, and then he pelted them with the dishes. Having thus ended the banquet, he went into an outhouse, seized a spade, and quitted Athens for ever. His next dwelling was a cave near the sea. Of all his friends, the only one who had not refused him aid was a handsome soldier named Alcibiades, and he had not been asked because, having quarreled with the Government of Athens, he had left that town. The thought that Alcibiades might have proved a true friend did not soften Timon's bitter feeling. He was too weak-minded to discern the fact that good cannot be far from evil in this mixed world. He determined to see nothing better in all mankind than the ingratitude of Ventidius and the meanness of Lucullus. He became a vegetarian, and talked pages to himself as he dug in the earth for food. One day, when he was digging for roots near the shore, his spade struck gold. If he had been a wise man he would have enriched himself quickly, and returned to Athens to live in comfort. But the sight of the gold vein gave no joy but only scorn to Timon. “This yellow slave,” he said, “will make and break religions. It will make black white and foul fair. It will buy murder and bless the accursed.” He was still ranting when Alcibiades, now an enemy of Athens, approached with his soldiers and two beautiful women who cared for nothing but pleasure. Timon was so changed by his bad thoughts and rough life that Alcibiades did not recognize him at first. “Who are you?” he asked. “A beast, as you are,” was the reply. Alcibiades knew his voice, and offered him help and money. But Timon would none of it, and began to insult the women. They, however, when they found he had discovered a gold mine, cared not a jot for his opinion of them, but said, “Give us some gold, good Timon. Have you more?” With further insults, Timon filled their aprons with gold ore. “Farewell,” said Alcibiades, who deemed that Timon's wits were lost; and then his disciplined soldiers left without profit the mine which could have paid their wages, and marched towards Athens. Timon continued to dig and curse, and affected great delight when he dug up a root and discovered that it was not a grape. Just then Apemantus appeared. “I am told that you imitate me,” said Apemantus. “Only,” said Timon, “because you haven't a dog which I can imitate.” “You are revenging yourself on your friends by punishing yourself,” said Apemantus. “That is very silly, for they live just as comfortably as they ever did. I am sorry that a fool should imitate me.” “If I were like you,” said Timon, “I should throw myself away.” “You have done so,” sneered Apemantus. “Will the cold brook make you a good morning drink, or an east wind warm your clothes as a valet would?”