not so base as you;
For you serve knaves.
How! what does his cashiered worship mutter?
No matter what; he's poor, and that's revenge
enough. Who can speak broader than he that has no
house to put his head in? such may rail against
great buildings.
O, here's Servilius; now we shall know some answer.
If I might beseech you, gentlemen, to repair some
other hour, I should derive much from't; for,
take't of my soul, my lord leans wondrously to
discontent: his comfortable temper has forsook him;
he's much out of health, and keeps his chamber.
Many do keep their chambers are not sick:
And, if it be so far beyond his health,
Methinks he should the sooner pay his debts,
And make a clear way to the gods.
Good gods!
We cannot take this for answer, sir.
Servilius, help! My lord! my lord!
What, are my doors opposed against my passage?
Have I been ever free, and must my house
Be my retentive enemy, my gaol?
The place which I have feasted, does it now,
Like all mankind, show me an iron heart?
Put in now, Titus.
My lord, here is my bill.
Here's mine.
And mine, my lord.
And ours, my lord.
All our bills.
Knock me down with 'em: cleave me to the girdle.
Alas, my lord,-
Cut my heart in sums.
Mine, fifty talents.
Tell out my blood.
Five thousand crowns, my lord.
Five thousand drops pays that.
What yours?--and yours?
My lord,--
My lord,--
Tear me, take me, and the gods fall upon you!
'Faith, I perceive our masters may throw their caps
at their money: these debts may well be called
desperate ones, for a madman owes 'em.
They have e'en put my breath from me, the slaves.
Creditors? devils!
My dear lord,--
What if it should be so?
My lord,--
I'll have it so. My steward!
Here, my lord.
So fitly? Go, bid all my friends again,
Lucius, Lucullus, and Sempronius:
All, sirrah, all:
I'll once more feast the rascals.
O my lord,
You only speak from your distracted soul;
There is not so much left, to furnish out
A moderate table.
Be't not in thy care; go,
I charge thee, invite them all: let in the tide
Of knaves once more; my cook and I'll provide.
My lord, you have my voice to it; the fault's
Bloody; 'tis necessary he should die:
Nothing emboldens sin so much