[Aside] Excellent workman! Thou canst not paint a man so
bad
as is thyself.
POET. I am thinking what I shall say I have provided for him.
It
must be a personating of himself; a satire against the
softness
of prosperity, with a discovery of the infinite flatteries
that
follow youth and opulency.
TIMON. [Aside] Must thou needs stand for a villain in thine own
work? Wilt thou whip thine own faults in other men? Do so, I
have
gold for thee.
POET. Nay, let's seek him;
Then do we sin against our own estate
When we may profit meet and come too late.
PAINTER. True;
When the day serves, before black-corner'd night,
Find what thou want'st by free and offer'd light.
Come.
TIMON. [Aside] I'll meet you at the turn. What a god's gold,
That he is worshipp'd in a baser temple
Than where swine feed!
'Tis thou that rig'st the bark and plough'st the foam,
Settlest admired reverence in a slave.
To thee be worship! and thy saints for aye
Be crown'd with plagues, that thee alone obey!
Fit I meet them. [Advancing from his cave]
POET. Hail, worthy Timon!
PAINTER. Our late noble master!
TIMON. Have I once liv'd to see two honest men?
POET. Sir,
Having often of your open bounty tasted,
Hearing you were retir'd, your friends fall'n off,
Whose thankless natures- O abhorred spirits!-
Not all the whips of heaven are large enough-
What! to you,
Whose star-like nobleness gave life and influence
To their whole being! I am rapt, and cannot cover
The monstrous bulk of this ingratitude
With any size of words.
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