This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1843 edition. Excerpt: ...thou this picture, Apemantus? Apem. The best, for the innocence. Tim. Wrought he not well that painted it? Apem. He wrought better that made the painter; and yet he's but a filthy piece of work. Pain. Y' are a dog. Apem. Thy mother's of my generation: what's she, if I be a dog? Tim. Wilt dine with me, Apemantus? Apem. No; I eat not lords. Tim. An thou should'st, thou 'dst anger ladies. Apem. O! they eat lords; so they come by great bellies. Tim. That's a lascivious apprehension. Apem. So thou apprehend'st it. Take it for thy labour. Tim. How dost thou like this jewel, Apemantus? Apem. Not so well as plain-dealing, which will not cost a man a doit. Tim. What dost thou think't is worth? Apem. Not worth my thinking.--How now, poet! Poet. How now, philosopher! Apem. Thou liest. Poet. Art not one? Apem. Yes. Poet. Then, I lie not. Apem. Art not a poet? Poet. Yes. Apem. Then, thou liest: look in thy last work, where thou hast feign'd him a worthy fellow. Poet. That's not feign'd; he is so. Apem. 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 lord! Tim. What would'st do then, Apemantus? Apem. Even as Apemantus does now, hate a lord with my heart. Tim. What, thyself? Apem. Ay. Tim. Wherefore? Apem. That I had no angry wit to be a lord.--Art not thou a merchant? Mer. Ay, Apemantus. Apem. Traffic confound thee, if the gods will not! Mer. If traffic do it, the gods do it. Apem. Traffic's thy god; and thy god confound thee! Trumpets sound. Enter a Servant. Tim. What trumpet's that? Serv. 'T is Alcibiades, and Some twenty horse, all of companionship. Tim. Pray, entertain them; give them guide to us.--Exeunt Some Attendants. You must needs dine with me.--Go not you...