Apemantus monologue (Act 4) — Timon of Athens

This is in thee a nature but infected, A poor unmanly melancholy sprung From change of fortune. Why this spade, this place? This slave-like habit and these looks of care? Thy flatterers yet wear silk, drink wine, lie soft, Hug their diseased perfumes, and have forgot That ever Timon was. Shame not these woods By putting on the cunning of a carper. Be thou a flatterer now, and seek to thrive By that which has undone thee. Hinge thy knee And let his very breath whom thou’lt observe Blow off thy cap; praise his most vicious strain, And call it excellent. Thou wast told thus; Thou gav’st thine ears, like tapsters that bade welcome, To knaves and all approachers. ’Tis most just That thou turn rascal; had’st thou wealth again, Rascals should have’t. Do not assume my likeness.