What do you thinke the houre?
Phil. Labouring for Nine

Luci. So much?
Phil. Is not my Lord seene yet?
Luci. Not yet

Phil. I wonder on't, he was wont to shine at seauen

Luci. I, but the dayes are waxt shorter with him:
You must consider, that a Prodigall course
Is like the Sunnes, but not like his recouerable, I feare:
'Tis deepest Winter in Lord Timons purse, that is: One
may reach deepe enough, and yet finde little

Phil. I am of your feare, for that

Tit. Ile shew you how t' obserue a strange euent:
Your Lord sends now for Money?
Hort. Most true, he doe's

Tit. And he weares Iewels now of Timons guift,
For which I waite for money

Hort. It is against my heart

Luci. Marke how strange it showes,
Timon in this, should pay more then he owes:
And e'ne as if your Lord should weare rich Iewels,
And send for money for 'em