| ACT IV SCENE II | Athens. A room in Timon's house. | |
| [Enter FLAVIUS, with two or three Servants] |
| First Servant | Hear you, master steward, where's our master? |
| 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. | 5 |
| 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 | 10 |
| 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, | 15 |
| 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, | 20 |
| 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, | 25 |
| 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 fortunes, |
| 'We have seen better days.' Let each take some; | 30 |
| Nay, put out all your hands. Not one word more: |
| Thus part we rich in sorrow, parting poor. |
[Servants 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? | 35 |
| 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, | 40 |
| 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, bless'd, to be most accursed, | 45 |
| 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. | 50 |
| I'll follow and inquire him out: |
| I'll ever serve his mind with my best will; |
| Whilst I have gold, I'll be his steward still. |
| [Exit] |
Sources for Timon of Athens