Thou liest.
POET. Art not one?
APEMANTUS. Yes.
POET. Then I lie not.
APEMANTUS. Art not a poet?
POET. Yes.
APEMANTUS. Then thou liest. Look in thy last work, where thou
hast feign'd him a worthy fellow.
POET. That's not feign'd- he is so.
APEMANTUS. Yes, he is worthy of thee, and to pay thee for thy
labour. He that loves to be flattered is worthy o' th'
flatterer.
Heavens, that I were a lord!
TIMON. What wouldst do then, Apemantus?
APEMANTUS. E'en as Apemantus does now: hate a lord with my
heart.
TIMON. What, thyself?
APEMANTUS. Ay.
TIMON. Wherefore?
APEMANTUS. That I had no angry wit to be a lord.- Art not thou
a merchant?
MERCHANT. Ay, Apemantus.
APEMANTUS. Traffic confound thee, if the gods will not!
MERCHANT. If traffic do it, the gods do it.
APEMANTUS. Traffic's thy god, and thy god confound thee!
Trumpet sounds. Enter a MESSENGER
TIMON. What trumpet's that?
MESSENGER. 'Tis Alcibiades, and some twenty horse,
All of companionship.
TIMON. Pray entertain them; give them guide to us.
Exeunt some attendants
You must needs dine with me. Go not you hence
Till I have thank'd you. When dinner's done
Show me this piece.
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