To cure thy o'ernight's surfeit? Call the creatures
Whose naked natures live in all the spite
Of wreakful heaven, whose bare unhoused trunks,
To the conflicting elements expos'd,
Answer mere nature; bid them flatter thee;
O! thou shalt find--

TIMON.
A fool of thee. Depart.

APEMANTUS.
I love thee better now than e'er I did.

TIMON.
I hate thee worse.

APEMANTUS.
Why?

TIMON.
Thou flatter'st misery.

APEMANTUS.
I flatter not, but say thou art a caitiff.

TIMON.
Why dost thou seek me out?

APEMANTUS.
To vex thee.