Luci. Marke how strange it showes, Timon in this, should pay more then he owes: And e'ne as if your Lord should weare rich Iewels, And send for money for 'em Hort. I'me weary of this Charge, The Gods can witnesse: I know my Lord hath spent of Timons wealth, And now Ingratitude, makes it worse then stealth Varro. Yes, mine's three thousand Crownes: What's yours? Luci. Fiue thousand mine Varro. 'Tis much deepe, and it should seem by th' sum Your Masters confidence was aboue mine, Else surely his had equall'd. Enter Flaminius. Tit. One of Lord Timons men Luc. Flaminius? Sir, a word: Pray is my Lord readie to come forth? Flam. No, indeed he is not Tit. We attend his Lordship: pray signifie so much Flam. I need not tell him that, he knowes you are too diligent. Enter Steward in a Cloake, muffled. Luci. Ha: is not that his Steward muffled so? He goes away in a Clowd: Call him, call him Tit. Do you heare, sir? 2.Varro. By your leaue, sir Stew. What do ye aske of me, my Friend Tit. We waite for certaine Money heere, sir Stew. I, if Money were as certaine as your waiting, 'Twere sure enough. Why then preferr'd you not your summes and Billes When your false Masters eate of my Lords meat? Then they could smile, and fawne vpon his debts. And take downe th' Intrest into their glutt'nous Mawes. You do your selues but wrong, to stirre me vp, Let me passe quietly: Beleeue't, my Lord and I haue made an end, I haue no more to reckon, he to spend Luci. I, but this answer will not serue Stew. If't 'twill not serue, 'tis not so base as you, For you serue Knaues 1.Varro. How? What does his casheer'd Worship mutter? 2.Varro. No matter what, hee's poore, and that's reuenge enough. Who can speake broader, then hee that has no house to put his head in? Such may rayle against great buildings. Enter Seruilius. Tit. Oh heere's Seruilius: now wee shall know some answere Seru. If I might beseech you Gentlemen, to repayre some other houre, I should deriue much from't. For tak't of my soule, my Lord leanes wondrously to discontent: His comfortable temper has forsooke him, he's much out of health, and keepes his Chamber Luci. Many do keepe their Chambers, are not sicke: And if it be so farre beyond his health, Me thinkes he should the sooner pay his debts, And make a cleere way to the Gods Seruil. Good Gods Titus. We cannot take this for answer, sir Flaminius within. Seruilius helpe, my Lord, my Lord. Enter Timon in a rage. Tim. What, are my dores oppos'd against my passage? Haue I bin euer free, and must my house Be my retentiue Enemy? My Gaole? The place which I haue Feasted, does it now (Like all Mankinde) shew me an Iron heart? Luci. Put in now Titus Tit. My Lord, heere is my Bill Luci. Here's mine 1.Var. And mine, my Lord 2.Var. And ours, my Lord Philo. All our Billes Tim. Knocke me downe with 'em, cleaue mee to the Girdle Luc. Alas, my Lord