Stew. Heauens, haue I said, the bounty of this Lord: How many prodigall bits haue Slaues and Pezants This night englutted: who is not Timons, What heart, head, sword, force, meanes, but is L[ord]. Timons: Great Timon, Noble, Worthy, Royall Timon: Ah, when the meanes are gone, that buy this praise, The breath is gone, whereof this praise is made: Feast won, fast lost; one cloud of Winter showres, These flyes are coucht Tim. Come sermon me no further. No villanous bounty yet hath past my heart; Vnwisely, not ignobly haue I giuen. Why dost thou weepe, canst thou the conscience lacke, To thinke I shall lacke friends: secure thy heart, If I would broach the vessels of my loue, And try the argument of hearts, by borrowing, Men, and mens fortunes could I frankely vse As I can bid thee speake Ste. Assurance blesse your thoughts Tim. And in some sort these wants of mine are crown'd, That I account them blessings. For by these Shall I trie Friends. You shall perceiue How you mistake my Fortunes: I am wealthie in my Friends. Within there, Flauius, Seruilius? Enter three Seruants. Ser. My Lord, my Lord Tim. I will dispatch you seuerally. You to Lord Lucius, to Lord Lucullus you, I hunted with his Honor to day; you to Sempronius; commend me to their loues; and I am proud say, that my occasions haue found time to vse 'em toward a supply of mony: let the request be fifty Talents Flam. As you haue said, my Lord Stew. Lord Lucius and Lucullus? Humh Tim. Go you sir to the Senators; Of whom, euen to the States best health; I haue Deseru'd this Hearing: bid 'em send o'th' instant A thousand Talents to me Ste. I haue beene bold (For that I knew it the most generall way) To them, to vse your Signet, and your Name, But they do shake their heads, and I am heere No richer in returne Tim. Is't true? Can't be? Stew. They answer in a ioynt and corporate voice, That now they are at fall, want Treasure cannot Do what they would, are sorrie: you are Honourable, But yet they could haue wisht, they know not, Something hath beene amisse; a Noble Nature May catch a wrench; would all were well; tis pitty, And so intending other serious matters, After distastefull lookes; and these hard Fractions With certaine halfe-caps, and cold mouing nods, They froze me into Silence