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Are we undone, cast off, nothing remaining?

FLAVIUS.

Alack, my fellows, what should I say to you?

Let me be recorded by the righteous gods,

I am as poor as you.

FIRST SERVANT.

Such a house broke!

So noble a master fall'n! All gone, and not

One friend to take his fortune by the arm

And go along with him?

SECOND SERVANT.

As we do turn our backs

From our companion, thrown into his grave,

So his familiars to his buried fortunes

Slink all away; leave their false vows with him,

Like empty purses pick'd; and his poor self,

A dedicated beggar to the air,

With his disease of all-shunn'd poverty,

Walks, like contempt, alone. More of our fellows.

Enter other SERVANTS

FLAVIUS.

All broken implements of a ruin'd house.

THIRD SERVANT.

Yet do our hearts wear Timon's livery;

That see I by our faces. We are fellows still,

Serving alike in sorrow. Leak'd is our bark;

And we, poor mates, stand on the dying deck,

Hearing the surges threat. We must all part

Into this sea of air.

FLAVIUS.

Good fellows all,

The latest of my wealth I'll share amongst you.

Wherever we shall meet, for Timon's sake,

Let's yet be fellows; let's shake our heads and say,

As 'twere a knell unto our master's fortune,

'We have seen better days.' Let each take some.

[Giving them money]

Nay, put out all your hands. Not one word more!

Thus part we rich in sorrow, parting poor.

[Embrace, and part several ways]

O the fierce wretchedness that glory brings us!

Who would not wish to be from wealth exempt,

Since riches point to misery and contempt?

Who would be so mock'd with glory, or to live

But in a dream of friendship,

To have his pomp, and all what state compounds,

But only painted, like his varnish'd friends?

Poor honest lord, brought low by his own heart,

Undone by goodness! Strange, unusual blood,

When man's worst sin is he does too much good!

Who then dares to be half so kind again?

For bounty, that makes gods, does still mar men.

My dearest lord- blest to be most accurst,

Rich only to be wretched- thy great fortunes

Are made thy chief afflictions. Alas, kind lord!

He's flung in rage from this ingrateful seat

Of monstrous friends; nor has he with him to

Supply his life, or that which can command it.

I'll follow and enquire him out.

I'll ever serve his mind with my best will;

Whilst I have gold, I'll be his steward still. Exit

SCENE III. The woods near the sea-shore. Before TIMON'S cave

Enter TIMON in the woods

TIMON.

O blessed breeding sun, draw from the earth

Rotten humidity; below thy sister's orb

Infect the air! Twinn'd brothers of one womb-

Whose procreation, residence, and birth,

Scarce is dividant- touch them with several fortunes:

The greater scorns the lesser. Not nature,

To whom all sores lay siege, can bear great fortune

But by contempt of nature.

Raise me this beggar and deny't that lord:

The senator shall bear contempt hereditary,

The beggar native honour.

It is the pasture lards the rother's sides,

The want that makes him lean. Who dares, who dares,

In purity of manhood stand upright,

And say 'This man's a flatterer'? If one be,

So are they all; for every grise of fortune

Is smooth'd by that below. The learned pate

Ducks to the golden fool. All's oblique;

There's nothing level in our cursed natures

But direct villainy. Therefore be abhorr'd

All feasts, societies, and throngs of men!

His semblable, yea, himself, Timon disdains.

Destruction fang mankind! Earth, yield me roots.

[Digging]

Who seeks for better of thee, sauce his palate

With thy most operant poison. What is here?

Gold? Yellow, glittering, precious gold? No, gods,

I am no idle votarist. Roots, you clear heavens!

Thus much of this will make black white, foul fair,

Wrong right, base noble, old young, coward valiant.

Ha, you gods! why this? What, this, you gods? Why, this

Will lug your priests and servants from your sides,

Pluck stout men's pillows from below their heads-

This yellow slave

Will knit and break religions, bless th' accurs'd,

Make the hoar leprosy ador'd,