Those enemies of Timon's and mine own,
Whom you yourselves shall set out for reproof,
Fall, and no more. And, to atone your fears
With my more noble meaning, not a man
Shall pass his quarter or offend the stream
Of regular justice in your city's bounds,
But shall be render'd to your public laws
At heaviest answer.

BOTH.
'Tis most nobly spoken.

ALCIBIADES.
Descend, and keep your words.

[The SENATORS descend and open the gates.]

[Enter a SOLDIER.]

SOLDIER.
My noble General, Timon is dead;
Entomb'd upon the very hem o' the sea;
And on his gravestone this insculpture, which
With wax I brought away, whose soft impression
Interprets for my poor ignorance.

[ALCIBIADES reads the Epitaph.]

'Here lies a wretched corse, of wretched soul bereft;
Seek not my name. A plague consume you wicked caitiffs left!