This and my food are equals; there's no odds:
Feasts are too proud to give thanks to the gods.

Immortal gods, I crave no pelf;
I pray for no man but myself.
Grant I may never prove so fond
To trust man on his oath or bond;
Or a harlot for her weeping;
Or a dog that seems a-sleeping;
Or a keeper with my freedom;
Or my friends, if I should need 'em.
Amen. So fall to't.
Rich men sin, and I eat root.

[Eats and drinks.]

Much good dich thy good heart, Apemantus!

TIMON.
Captain Alcibiades, your heart's in the field now.

ALCIBIADES.
My heart is ever at your service, my lord.

TIMON.
You had rather be at a breakfast of enemies than a dinner of
friends.

ALCIBIADES.
So they were bleeding--new, my lord, there's no meat