With all my heart, gentlemen both! And how fare you?
Ever at the best, hearing well of your lordship.
The swallow follows not summer more willing than we
TIMON [Aside] Nor more willingly leaves winter; such summer-birds
are men- Gentlemen, our dinner will not recompense this long
stay; feast your ears with the music awhile, if they will fare so
harshly o' th' trumpet's sound; we shall to't presently.
I hope it remains not unkindly with your lordship that
I return'd you an empty messenger.
Each man to his stool with that spur as he would to the lip
of his mistress; your diet shall be in all places alike. Make not
a city feast of it, to let the meat cool ere we can agree upon
the first place. Sit, sit. The gods require our thanks:
You great benefactors, sprinkle our society with thankfulness.
For your own gifts make yourselves prais'd; but reserve still to
give, lest your deities be despised. Lend to each man enough,
that one need not lend to another; for were your god-heads to
borrow of men, men would forsake the gods. Make the meat be
beloved more than the man that gives it. Let no assembly of
twenty be without a score of villains. If there sit twelve women
at the table, let a dozen of them be- as they are. The rest of
your foes, O gods, the senators of Athens, together with the
common lag of people, what is amiss in them, you gods, make
suitable for destruction. For these my present friends, as they
are to me nothing, so in nothing bless them, and to nothing are
Uncover, dogs, and lap.
[The dishes are uncovered and seen to he full of warm water]
May you a better feast never behold,
You knot of mouth-friends! Smoke and lukewarm water
Is your perfection. This is Timon's last;
Who, stuck and spangled with your flatteries,
Washes it off, and sprinkles in your faces
Your reeking villainy. Live loath'd and long,
Most smiling, smooth, detested parasites,
Courteous destroyers, affable wolves, meek bears,
You fools of fortune, trencher friends, time's flies,
Cap and knee slaves, vapours, and minute-lacks!
Of man and beast the infinite malady
Crust you quite o'er! What, dost thou go?
Soft, take thy physic first; thou too, and thou.
Stay, I will lend thee money, borrow none.