Till you hear further from me. The gods preserve ye! Well fare you, gentleman: give me your hand; We must needs dine together. Sir, your jewel Hath suffer'd under praise. What, my lord! dispraise? A more satiety of commendations. If I should pay you for't as 'tis extoll'd, It would unclew me quite. My lord, 'tis rated As those which sell would give: but you well know, Things of like value differing in the owners Are prized by their masters: believe't, dear lord, You mend the jewel by the wearing it. Well mock'd. No, my good lord; he speaks the common tongue, Which all men speak with him. Look, who comes here: will you be chid? We'll bear, with your lordship. He'll spare none. Good morrow to thee, gentle Apemantus! Till I be gentle, stay thou for thy good morrow; When thou art Timon's dog, and these knaves honest. Why dost thou call them knaves? thou know'st them not. Are they not Athenians? Yes. Then I repent not. You know me, Apemantus? Thou know'st I do: I call'd thee by thy name. Thou art proud, Apemantus. Of nothing so much as that I am not like Timon. Whither art going? To knock out an honest Athenian's brains. That's a deed thou'lt die for. Right, if doing nothing be death by the law. How likest thou this picture, Apemantus? The best, for the innocence. Wrought he not well that painted it? He wrought better that made the painter; and yet he's but a filthy piece of work. You're a dog. Thy mother's of my generation: what's she, if I be a dog? Wilt dine with me, Apemantus? No; I eat not lords. An thou shouldst, thou 'ldst anger ladies. O, they eat lords; so they come by great bellies. That's a lascivious apprehension. So thou apprehendest it: take it for thy labour. How dost thou like this jewel, Apemantus? Not so well as plain-dealing, which will not cost a man a doit. What dost thou think 'tis worth? Not worth my thinking. How now, poet! How now, philosopher! Thou liest. Art not one? Yes. Then I lie not. Art not a poet? Yes. Then thou liest: look in thy last work, where thou hast feigned him a worthy fellow. That's not feigned; he is so. Yes, he is worthy of thee, and to pay thee for thy labour: he that loves to be flattered is worthy o' the flatterer. Heavens, that I were a