TIMON. [Aside] Excellent workman! Thou canst not paint a man so bad as is thyself. POET. I am thinking what I shall say I have provided for him. It must be a personating of himself; a satire against the softness of prosperity, with a discovery of the infinite flatteries that follow youth and opulency. TIMON. [Aside] Must thou needs stand for a villain in thine own work? Wilt thou whip thine own faults in other men? Do so, I have gold for thee. POET. Nay, let's seek him; Then do we sin against our own estate When we may profit meet and come too late. PAINTER. True; When the day serves, before black-corner'd night, Find what thou want'st by free and offer'd light. Come. TIMON. [Aside] I'll meet you at the turn. What a god's gold, That he is worshipp'd in a baser temple Than where swine feed! 'Tis thou that rig'st the bark and plough'st the foam, Settlest admired reverence in a slave. To thee be worship! and thy saints for aye Be crown'd with plagues, that thee alone obey! Fit I meet them. [Advancing from his cave] POET. Hail, worthy Timon! PAINTER. Our late noble master! TIMON. Have I once liv'd to see two honest men? POET. Sir, Having often of your open bounty tasted, Hearing you were retir'd, your friends fall'n off, Whose thankless natures- O abhorred spirits!- Not all the whips of heaven are large enough- What! to you, Whose star-like nobleness gave life and influence To their whole being! I am rapt, and cannot cover The monstrous bulk of this ingratitude With any size of words. TIMON. Let it go naked: men may see't the better. You that are honest, by being what you are, Make them best seen and known. PAINTER. He and myself Have travail'd in the great show'r of your gifts, And sweetly felt it. TIMON. Ay, you are honest men. PAINTER. We are hither come to offer you our service. TIMON. Most honest men! Why, how shall I requite you? Can you eat roots, and drink cold water- No? BOTH. What we can do, we'll do, to do you service. TIMON. Y'are honest men. Y'have heard that I have gold; I am sure you have. Speak truth; y'are honest men. PAINTER. So it is said, my noble lord; but therefore Came not my friend nor I. TIMON. Good honest men! Thou draw'st a counterfeit Best in all Athens. Th'art indeed the best; Thou counterfeit'st most lively. PAINTER. So, so, my lord. TIMON. E'en so, sir, as I say. [To POET] And for thy fiction, Why, thy verse swells with stuff so fine and smooth That thou art even natural in thine art. But for all this, my honest-natur'd friends, I must needs say you have a little fault. Marry, 'tis not monstrous in you; neither wish I You take much pains to mend. BOTH. Beseech your honour To make it known to us. TIMON. You'll take it ill. BOTH. Most thankfully, my lord. TIMON. Will you indeed?