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O Apemantus, you are welcome

O Apemantus, you are welcome.
No, you shall not make me welcome.
I come to have thee thrust me out of doors.
Fie, thou ’rt a churl. You’ve got a humor there
Does not become a man. ’Tis much to blame.—
They say, my lords, Ira furor brevis est, but yond
man is ever angry. Go, let him have a table by
himself, for he does neither affect company, nor is
he fit for ’t indeed.

Grant I may never prove so fond
To trust man on his oath or bond,

Let me stay at thine apperil, Timon. I
come to observe; I give thee warning on ’t.
I take no heed of thee. Thou ’rt an Athenian,
therefore welcome. I myself would have no power;
prithee, let my meat make thee silent.
I scorn thy meat. ’Twould choke me, for I
should ne’er flatter thee. (Apart.) O you gods,
what a number of men eats Timon, and he sees ’em
not! It grieves me to see so many dip their meat in
one man’s blood; and all the madness is, he cheers
them up too.

I wonder men dare trust themselves with men.
Methinks they should invite them without knives.
Good for their meat, and safer for their lives.

There’s much example for ’t. The fellow that sits
next him, now parts bread with him, pledges the
breath of him in a divided draft, is the readiest
man to kill him. ’T ’as been proved. If I were a huge
man, I should fear to drink at meals,

Lest they should spy my wind-pipe’s dangerous notes.
Great men should drink with harness on their throats.
Timon, responding to a toast 
My lord, in heart! And let the health go round.
Second Lord
Let it flow this way, my good lord.
Apemantus, apart 
“Flow this way”? A brave fellow.
He keeps his tides well. Those healths will make
thee and thy state look ill, Timon.

Here’s that which is too weak to be a sinner,
Honest water, which ne’er left man i’ th’ mire.
This and my food are equals. There’s no odds.
Feasts are too proud to give thanks to the gods.

Apemantus’ grace.

Immortal gods, I crave no pelf.
I pray for no man but myself.
Grant I may never prove so fond
To trust man on his oath or bond,
Or a harlot for her weeping,
Or a dog that seems a-sleeping,
Or a keeper with my freedom,
Or my friends if I should need ’em.
Amen. So fall to ’t.
Rich men sin, and I eat root.

He eats and drinks.
Much good dich thy good heart, Apemantus!

Act 1
Scene 2
Line 24

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