APEMANTUS. Come with me, fool, come. FOOL. I do not always follow lover, elder brother, and woman; sometime the philosopher. Exeunt APEMANTUS and FOOL FLAVIUS. Pray you walk near; I'll speak with you anon. Exeunt SERVANTS TIMON. You make me marvel wherefore ere this time Had you not fully laid my state before me, That I might so have rated my expense As I had leave of means. FLAVIUS. You would not hear me At many leisures I propos'd. TIMON. Go to; Perchance some single vantages you took When my indisposition put you back, And that unaptness made your minister Thus to excuse yourself. FLAVIUS. O my good lord, At many times I brought in my accounts, Laid them before you; you would throw them off And say you found them in mine honesty. When, for some trifling present, you have bid me Return so much, I have shook my head and wept; Yea, 'gainst th' authority of manners, pray'd you To hold your hand more close. I did endure Not seldom, nor no slight checks, when I have Prompted you in the ebb of your estate And your great flow of debts. My lov'd lord, Though you hear now- too late!- yet now's a time: The greatest of your having lacks a half To pay your present debts. TIMON. Let all my land be sold. FLAVIUS. 'Tis all engag'd, some forfeited and gone; And what remains will hardly stop the mouth Of present dues. The future comes apace; What shall defend the interim? And at length How goes our reck'ning? TIMON. To Lacedaemon did my land extend. FLAVIUS. O my good lord, the world is but a word; Were it all yours to give it in a breath, How quickly were it gone! TIMON. You tell me true. FLAVIUS. If you suspect my husbandry or falsehood, Call me before th' exactest auditors And set me on the proof. So the gods bless me, When all our offices have been oppress'd With riotous feeders, when our vaults have wept With drunken spilth of wine, when every room Hath blaz'd with lights and bray'd with minstrelsy, I have retir'd me to a wasteful cock And set mine eyes at flow. TIMON. Prithee no more. FLAVIUS. 'Heavens,' have I said 'the bounty of this lord! How many prodigal bits have slaves and peasants This night englutted! Who is not Lord 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 show'rs, These flies are couch'd. TIMON. Come, sermon me no further. No villainous bounty yet hath pass'd 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: