Page 3168 - Shakespeare - Vol. 3

APEMANTUS

Thou hast cast away thyself, being like thyself
A madman so long, now a fool. What, think’st
That the bleak air, thy boisterous chamberlain,

Will put thy shirt on warm? Will these moist trees, [225]
That have outliv’d the eagle, page thy heels
And skip when thou point’st out? Will the cold brook,
Candied with ice, caudle thy morning taste
To cure thy o’er-night’s surfeit? Call the creatures

Whose naked natures live in all the spite [230]
Of wreakful heaven, whose bare unhoused trunks,
To the conflicting elements expos’d,

Answer mere nature; bid them flatter thee.
O thou shalt find −

TIMON
A fool of thee. Depart.

APEMANTUS
I love thee better now than e’er I did. [235]

TIMON
I hate thee worse.

APEMANTUS
Why?

TIMON
Thou flatter’st misery.

APEMANTUS
I flatter not, but say thou art a caitiff.

TIMON

Why dost thou seek me out?

APEMANTUS