You would not hear me

Flavius
You would not hear me.
At many leisures I proposed—
Timon
Go to.
Perchance some single vantages you took
When my indisposition put you back,
And that unaptness made your minister
Thus to excuse yourself.

O my good lord, the world is but a word.
Were it all yours to give it in a breath,
How quickly were it gone!

Flavius
O, my good lord,
At many times I brought in my accounts,
Laid them before you. You would throw them off
And say you found them in mine honesty.
When for some trifling present you have bid me
Return so much, I have shook my head and wept—
Yea, ’gainst th’ authority of manners prayed you
To hold your hand more close. I did endure
Not seldom nor no slight checks when I have
Prompted you in the ebb of your estate
And your great flow of debts. My lovèd lord,
Though you hear now too late, yet now’s a time.
The greatest of your having lacks a half
To pay your present debts.
Timon
Let all my land be sold.
Flavius
’Tis all engaged, some forfeited and gone,
And what remains will hardly stop the mouth
Of present dues. The future comes apace.
What shall defend the interim? And at length
How goes our reck’ning?
Timon
To Lacedaemon did my land extend.
Flavius
O my good lord, the world is but a word.
Were it all yours to give it in a breath,
How quickly were it gone!
Timon
You tell me true.
Flavius
If you suspect my husbandry of falsehood,
Call me before th’ exactest auditors,
And set me on the proof. So the gods bless me,
When all our offices have been oppressed
With riotous feeders, when our vaults have wept
With drunken spilth of wine, when every room
Hath blazed with lights and brayed with minstrelsy,
I have retired me to a wasteful cock
And set mine eyes at flow.
Timon
Prithee, no more.
Flavius
Heavens, have I said, the bounty of this lord!
How many prodigal bits have slaves and peasants
This night englutted. Who is not Timon’s?
What heart, head, sword, force, means, but is Lord Timon’s?
Great Timon, noble, worthy, royal Timon!
Ah, when the means are gone that buy this praise,
The breath is gone whereof this praise is made.
Feast-won, fast-lost. One cloud of winter showers,
These flies are couched.
Timon
Come, sermon me no further.
No villainous bounty yet hath passed my heart;
Unwisely, not ignobly, have I given.
Why dost thou weep? Canst thou the conscience lack
To think I shall lack friends? Secure thy heart.
If I would broach the vessels of my love
And try the argument of hearts by borrowing,
Men and men’s fortunes could I frankly use
As I can bid thee speak.
Flavius
Assurance bless your thoughts!
Timon
And in some sort these wants of mine are crowned,
That I account them blessings. For by these
Shall I try friends. You shall perceive how you
Mistake my fortunes. I am wealthy in my friends.