TIMON. O, by no means,
Honest Ventidius! You mistake my love;
I gave it freely ever; and there's none
Can truly say he gives, if he receives.
If our betters play at that game, we must not dare
To imitate them: faults that are rich are fair.
VENTIDIUS. A noble spirit!
TIMON. Nay, my lords, ceremony was but devis'd at first
To set a gloss on faint deeds, hollow welcomes,
Recanting goodness, sorry ere 'tis shown;
But where there is true friendship there needs none.
Pray, sit; more welcome are ye to my fortunes
Than my fortunes to me. [They sit]
FIRST LORD. My lord, we always have confess'd it.
APEMANTUS. Ho, ho, confess'd it! Hang'd it, have you not?
TIMON. O, Apemantus, you are welcome.
APEMANTUS. No;
You shall not make me welcome.
I come to have thee thrust me out of doors.
TIMON. Fie, th'art a churl; ye have got a humour there
Does not become a man; 'tis much to blame.
They say, my lords, Ira furor brevis est; but yond man is
ever
angry. Go, let him have a table by himself; for he does
neither
affect company nor is he fit for't indeed.
APEMANTUS. Let me stay at thine apperil, Timon.
I come to observe; I give thee warning on't.
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