TIMON.
What, thyself?

APEMANTUS.
Ay.

TIMON.
Wherefore?

APEMANTUS.
That I had no angry wit to be a lord. Art not thou a merchant?

MERCHANT.
Ay, Apemantus.

APEMANTUS.
Traffic confound thee, if the gods will not!

MERCHANT.
If traffic do it, the gods do it.

APEMANTUS.
Traffic's thy god, and thy god confound thee!

[Trumpet sounds. Enter a MESSENGER.]

TIMON.
What trumpet's that?

MESSENGER.