_Her_. Zeus has sent us to Timon here.

_Pov_. Now? What has Plutus to do with Timon now? I found him
suffering under Luxury's treatment, put him in the charge of Wisdom
and Toil (whom you see here), and made a good worthy man of him. Do
you take me for such a contemptible helpless creature that you can rob
me of my little all? have I perfected him in virtue, only to see
Plutus take him, trust him to Insolence and Arrogance, make him as
soft and limp and silly as before, and return him to me a worn-out rag
again?

_Her_. It is Zeus's will.

_Pov_. I am off, then. Toil, Wisdom, and the rest of you, quick march!
Well, he will realize his loss before long; he had a good help meet in
me, and a true teacher; with me he was healthy in body and vigorous in
spirit; he lived the life of a man, and could be independent, and see
the thousand and one needless refinements in all their absurdity.

_Her_. There they go, Plutus; let us come to him.

_Tim_. Who are you, villains? What do you want here, interrupting a
hired labourer? You shall have something to take with you, confound
you all! These clods and stones shall provide you with a broken head
or two.

_Her_. Stop, Timon, don't throw. We are not men; I am Hermes, and this
is Plutus; Zeus has sent us in answer to your prayers. So knock off
work, take your fortune, and much good may it do you!