Well, more gold. What then?
Believe't that we'll do anything for gold.

TIMON.
Consumptions sow
In hollow bones of man; strike their sharp shins,
And mar men's spurring. Crack the lawyer's voice,
That he may never more false title plead,
Nor sound his quillets shrilly; hoar the flamen,
That scolds against the quality of flesh,
And not believes himself: down with the nose,
Down with it flat; take the bridge quite away
Of him that, his particular to foresee,
Smells from the general weal: make curl'd-pate ruffians bald,
And let the unscarr'd braggarts of the war
Derive some pain from you: plague all,
That your activity may defeat and quell
The source of all erection. There's more gold;
Do you damn others, and let this damn you,
And ditches grave you all!

PHRYNIA AND TIMANDRA.
More counsel with more money, bounteous Timon.

TIMON.
More whore, more mischief first; I have given you earnest.

ALCIBIADES.
Strike up the drum towards Athens! Farewell, Timon:
If I thrive well, I'll visit thee again.