TIMON. You'll take it ill.
BOTH. Most thankfully, my lord.
TIMON. Will you indeed?
BOTH. Doubt it not, worthy lord.
TIMON. There's never a one of you but trusts a knave
That mightily deceives you.
BOTH. Do we, my lord?
TIMON. Ay, and you hear him cog, see him dissemble,
Know his gross patchery, love him, feed him,
Keep in your bosom; yet remain assur'd
That he's a made-up villain.
PAINTER. I know not such, my lord.
POET. Nor I.
TIMON. Look you, I love you well; I'll give you gold,
Rid me these villains from your companies.
Hang them or stab them, drown them in a draught,
Confound them by some course, and come to me,
I'll give you gold enough.
BOTH. Name them, my lord; let's know them.
TIMON. You that way, and you this- but two in company;
Each man apart, all single and alone,
Yet an arch-villain keeps him company.
[To the PAINTER] If, where thou art, two villians shall not
be,
Come not near him. [To the POET] If thou wouldst not reside
But where one villain is, then him abandon.-
Hence, pack! there's gold; you came for gold, ye slaves.
[To the PAINTER] You have work for me; there's payment;
hence!
[To the POET] You are an alchemist; make gold of that.
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