[Trumpets sound. Enter LORD TIMON, addressing himself
courteously to every suitor: a MESSENGER from
VENTIDIUS talking with him; LUCILIUS and other
servants following.]

TIMON.
Imprison'd is he, say you?

MESSENGER.
Ay, my good lord. Five talents is his debt,
His means most short, his creditors most strait:
Your honourable letter he desires
To those have shut him up; which, failing,
Periods his comfort.

TIMON.
Noble Ventidius! Well:
I am not of that feather to shake off
My friend when he must need me. I do know him
A gentleman that well deserves a help,
Which he shall have: I'll pay the debt and free him.

MESSENGER.
Your lordship ever binds him.

TIMON.
Commend me to him; I will send his ransom;
And being enfranchis'd, bid him come to me.
'Tis not enough to help the feeble up,