FLAVIUS. Heavens, have I said, the bounty of this lord! How many prodigal bits have slaves and peasants This night englutted? Who is not Timon’s? What heart, head, sword, force, means, but is Lord Timon’s? Great Timon, noble, worthy, royal Timon! Ah, when the means are gone that buy this praise, The breath is gone whereof this praise is made. Feast-won, fast-lost; one cloud of winter showers, These flies are couched. TIMON. Come, sermon me no further. No villainous bounty yet hath passed my heart; Unwisely, not ignobly, have I given. Why dost thou weep? Canst thou the conscience lack To think I shall lack friends? Secure thy heart. If I would broach the vessels of my love And try the argument of hearts by borrowing, Men and men’s fortunes could I frankly use As I can bid thee speak. FLAVIUS. Assurance bless your thoughts! TIMON. And in some sort these wants of mine are crowned, That I account them blessings. For by these Shall I try friends. You shall perceive how you Mistake my fortunes. I am wealthy in my friends. Within there! Flaminius! Servilius! Enter Flaminius, Servilius and a third Servant. SERVANTS. My lord, my lord. TIMON. I will dispatch you severally. [_To Servilius_.] You to Lord Lucius; [_To Flaminius_.] to Lord Lucullus you, I hunted with his honour today; [_To the third Servant_.] you to Sempronius. Commend me to their loves; and I am proud, say, that my occasions have found time to use ’em toward a supply of money. Let the request be fifty talents. FLAMINIUS. As you have said, my lord. [_Exeunt Servants._] FLAVIUS. [_Aside_.] Lord Lucius and Lucullus? Humh! TIMON. Go you, sir, to the senators, Of whom, even to the state’s best health, I have Deserved this hearing, Bid ’em send o’ th’ instant A thousand talents to me. FLAVIUS. I have been bold— For that I knew it the most general way— To them to use your signet and your name, But they do shake their heads, and I am here No richer in return. TIMON. Is’t true? Can’t be? FLAVIUS. They answer in a joint and corporate voice That now they are at fall, want treasure, cannot Do what they would, are sorry. You are honourable, But yet they could have wished—they know not— Something hath been amiss—a noble nature May catch a wrench—would all were well—’tis pity. And so, intending other serious matters, After distasteful looks and these hard fractions, With certain half-caps and cold-moving nods They froze me into silence.