May catch a wrench; would all were well; 'tis pity;
And so, intending other serious matters,
After distasteful looks, and these hard fractions,
With certain half-caps and cold-moving nods,
They froze me into silence.

TIMON.
You gods, reward them!
Prithee, man, look cheerly. These old fellows
Have their ingratitude in them hereditary;
Their blood is cak'd, 'tis cold, it seldom flows;
'Tis lack of kindly warmth they are not kind;
And nature, as it grows again toward earth,
Is fashion'd for the journey, dull and heavy.
[To a Servant.] Go to Ventidius.--[To Flavius.]
Prithee, be not sad,
Thou art true and honest; ingenuously I speak,
No blame belongs to thee.--[To Servant.] Ventidius lately
Buried his father; by whose death he's stepp'd
Into a great estate. When he was poor,
Imprison'd and in scarcity of friends,
I clear'd him with five talents; greet him from me,
Bid him suppose some good necessity
Touches his friend, which craves to be remember'd
With those five talents.

[Exit Servant.]

[To Flavius.]
That had, give't these fellows