46–47
TIMON I assure you, it will be a very mournful dirge that you will sing, with this pick of mine to prompt you. GNATHONIDES What’s this? A blow, Timon? I appeal to the witnesses. O Heracles! Oh! Oh! I summon you before the Areopagus for assault and battery.
TIMON If you will only linger one moment more, the summons will be for murder.
5
GNATHONIDES No, no! Do heal my wound, at least, by putting alittle gold on it. That is a wonderful specific for staunching blood.
TIMON What, are you still bent on staying?
GNATHONIDES I am going; but you shall be sorry that you left off being a gentleman and became such a boor.
TIMON Who is this coming up, with the bald pate? Philiades, the most nauseous toady of them all. He received from me a whole farm and a dower of two talents for his daughter in payment for praising me once, when I had sung a song and everybody else kept still, but he lauded me to the skies, vowing on his word of honour that I was a better singer than a swan. Yet when he saw me ill the other day and I went up to him and begged for alms, the generous fellow bestowed a thrashing on me.
