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FIRST LORD He’s opposite to humanity. Come, shall we in
And taste Lord Timon’s bounty? He outgoes
The very heart of kindness.
SECOND LORD He pours it out. Plutus, the god of gold,
Is but his steward. No meed but he repays
Sevenfold above itself; no gift to him
But breeds the giver a return exceeding
All use of quittance. (1.1.276–83)
In the play’s opening scene, two lords discuss Timon’s immoderate spending. Though Timon is indeed generous, the First Lord suggest that his philanthropy “outgoes / The very heart of kindness.” The Second Lord agrees that Timon is perhaps too generous, which he indicates when he suggests that “Plutus, the god of gold,” is in fact working for Timon as “his steward”—certainly an unnatural inversion of god and man. Although these lords respect Timon’s generosity of spirit, they are also clearly bewildered by his lack of moderation.
Alas, good lord! a noble gentleman ’tis, if he would not keep so good a house. Many a time and often I ha’ dined with him and told him on’t, and come again to supper to him of purpose to have him spend less; and yet he would embrace no counsel, take no warning by my coming. Every man has his fault, and honesty is his. I ha’ told him on’t, but I could ne’er get him from’t. (3.1.21–27)
When Timon’s servant Flaminius goes to Lucullus’s house to ask for a loan, the lord initially responds by reflecting on Timon’s profligate spending. He begins by observing that Timon “keep[s] so good a house”—a subtly ironic phrase implying that the material splendor of his estate comes at the expense of a sustainable domestic economy. Lucullus then speaks more directly, telling Flaminius that he has frequently counseled Timon to be less extravagant when hosting his friends. However, Timon has never taken his advice, a fact that seems genuinely frustrating to Lucullus, who ends with a verbal shake of his head: “I ha’ told him on’t, but I could ne’er get him from’t.” His words have a ring of truth, since we’ve already heard Timon’s own steward, Flavius, complain of how difficult it is to get his master to face the reality of his financial situation.
Shame not these woods
By putting on the cunning of a carper.
Be thou a flatterer now, and seek to thrive
By that which has undone thee; hinge thy knee,
And let his very breath whom thou’lt observe
Blow off thy cap; praise his most vicious strain,
And call it excellent. Thou wast told thus;
Thou gav’st thine ears, like tapsters that bade welcome,
To knaves and all approachers. ’Tis most just
That thou turn rascal. Had’st thou wealth again,
Rascals should have’t. Do not assume my likeness. (4.3.208–218)
Apemantus addresses these lines to Timon when he comes upon him in the woods. The chief cynic of Athens is disturbed to find Timon so thoroughly changed, living in such destitute conditions. Although on one level he’s delighted that Timon is now aware of the hypocrisy that surrounded him, on another level he’s unhappy that Timon has transformed into a misanthrope. With these words, Apemantus counsels him to avoid “putting on the cunning of a carper”—that is, he tells Timon not to pretend to be as cynical as he is. Cynicism isn’t natural to Timon, and so he should “not assume [Apemantus’s] likeness.” Instead, Timon should turn the system against itself and find a way to thrive through flattery. Acting in this way would make him as much of a “rascal” as the others, but that would be preferable to devoting himself wholeheartedly to the embittered life of a misanthrope.
