ALCIBIADES.
Hast thou gold yet? I'll take the gold thou giv'st me,
Not all thy counsel.

TIMON.
Dost thou, or dost thou not, heaven's curse upon thee!

PHRYNIA AND TIMANDRA.
Give us some gold, good Timon:
Hast thou more?

TIMON.
Enough to make a whore forswear her trade,
And to make whores a bawd. Hold up, you sluts,
Your aprons mountant: you are not oathable,
Although, I know, you'll swear, terribly swear
Into strong shudders and to heavenly agues,
The immortal gods that hear you, spare your oaths,
I'll trust to your conditions: be whores still;
And he whose pious breath seeks to convert you,
Be strong in whore, allure him, burn him up;
Let your close fire predominate his smoke,
And be no turncoats: yet may your pains, six months,
Be quite contrary: and thatch your poor thin roofs
With burdens of the dead; some that were hang'd,
No matter; wear them, betray with them: whore still;
Paint till a horse may mire upon your face:
A pox of wrinkles!

PHRYNIA AND TIMANDRA.