Hear you, Master Steward, where’s our master?
Are we undone, cast off, nothing remaining?
Sir, where is our master? Is everything gone? Have we been abandoned with nothing left at all?
Steward, where did the master go? Is this it? Are we done?
where's timon are we ruined is this over
Alack, my fellows, what should I say to you?
Let me be recorded by the righteous gods,
I am as poor as you.
What can I tell you? I swear to the righteous gods—I am as poor as you are now.
What do you want me to say? I'm just as broke as all of you. That's the truth.
i've lost everything too i'm not richer than you we're all finished
Such a house broke?
So noble a master fall’n? All gone, and not
One friend to take his fortune by the arm
And go along with him?
A house so noble, broken? Such a master fallen? Everything gone—not one friend to take his arm and follow him into exile?
A great house, just... shattered. A good man brought down to nothing. And not a single friend stayed. Not one person to go with him.
how could this happen he was noble no one stood by him everyone left
As we do turn our backs
From our companion, thrown into his grave,
So his familiars to his buried fortunes
Slink all away, leave their false vows with him,
Like empty purses picked; and his poor self,
A dedicated beggar to the air,
With his disease of all-shunned poverty,
Walks, like contempt, alone.—More of our fellows.
As we turn away from a friend when he's buried, so do Timon's so-called companions slink away from his buried fortune, abandoning their false vows to him like empty robbed purses. He walks alone now, sick with the poverty everyone shuns, like living contempt itself. More servants are arriving.
The way people turn their backs on someone at a funeral? That's what all his so-called friends are doing to his money and his ruined future. They're sneaking away, leaving behind all their empty promises like they're trash. He's out there alone, diseased with poverty, treated like he's disgusting. More people are coming.
friends are like mourners they abandon you when you fall they take their promises and leave timon walks alone touched by poverty like he's poison
All broken implements of a ruined house.
The ruins of a destroyed household—nothing but broken remnants.
Everything here is smashed. It's just debris from a life that fell apart.
all that's left is wreckage
Yet do our hearts wear Timon’s livery.
That see I by our faces. We are fellows still,
Serving alike in sorrow. Leaked is our bark,
And we, poor mates, stand on the dying deck,
Hearing the surges threat. We must all part
Into this sea of air.
Yet we still wear Timon's house badge in our hearts—I can see it in our faces. We're still companions, suffering together. Our ship is sinking and we're the poor crew on a dying deck, hearing the ocean threaten us. We must all part now, scattered into this sea of air.
Look, we still belong to Timon—you can see it on all our faces. We're in this together, all of us broke and broken. We're like sailors on a ship that's going down, hearing the waves coming for us. We've got to split up and try to survive alone now.
we're still his people even though we're ruined we're sinking and we have to scatter into nothing
Good fellows all,
The latest of my wealth I’ll share amongst you.
Wherever we shall meet, for Timon’s sake
Let’s yet be fellows. Let’s shake our heads and say,
As ’twere a knell unto our master’s fortune,
“We have seen better days.” Let each take some.
Good fellows all, I'll share the last of my wealth among you. Wherever we meet in the future, let's stay loyal to each other for Timon's sake. Let's shake our heads together and say, as if we're ringing a bell for his death: 'We have seen better days.' Each of you, take some money.
Listen, all of you—I'm dividing everything I have left among you. Wherever we end up, let's remember each other and do it for Timon. When we meet someday, let's just look at each other sadly and say, 'We used to have good times.' Here, take your share.
i'll share what i have left let's stay connected for timon's sake we'll remember the good days together
Nay, put out all your hands. Not one word more.
Thus part we rich in sorrow, parting poor.
No, put out all your hands. Not another word. Thus we part rich in sorrow, parting poor.
Here, everyone hold out your hands. Don't say anything. We're leaving with our sorrow but nothing else.
put ur hands out no more words we're leaving sad & broke
O, the fierce wretchedness that glory brings us!
Who would not wish to be from wealth exempt,
Since riches point to misery and contempt?
Who would be so mocked with glory, or to live
But in a dream of friendship,
To have his pomp and all what state compounds
But only painted, like his varnished friends?
Poor honest lord, brought low by his own heart,
Undone by goodness! Strange, unusual blood
When man’s worst sin is he does too much good!
Who then dares to be half so kind again?
For bounty, that makes gods, does still mar men.
My dearest lord, blessed to be most accursed,
Rich only to be wretched, thy great fortunes
Are made thy chief afflictions. Alas, kind lord,
He’s flung in rage from this ingrateful seat
Of monstrous friends;
Nor has he with him to supply his life,
Or that which can command it.
I’ll follow and inquire him out.
I’ll ever serve his mind with my best will.
Whilst I have gold, I’ll be his steward still.
Oh, the terrible suffering that comes with honor! Who wouldn't want to avoid wealth, since riches bring misery and contempt? Who would want to be mocked by glory, to live in a dream of friendship, to have all his status only painted, like his fake friends? Poor honest lord, brought low by his own goodness, undone by kindness! It's strange, unusual when a man's worst sin is doing too much good! Who would dare to be half so kind again? Generosity that makes gods still ruins men. My dearest lord, blessed yet most cursed, rich only to be wretched—your great wealth has become your chief suffering. Dear lord, he's fled in rage from these ungrateful friends, with nothing to sustain his life or command it. I'll follow and find him. I'll always serve his wishes with my best effort. While I have gold, I'll remain his steward.
Oh, the terrible pain that comes with being rich and admired! Who wouldn't want to avoid wealth? It just brings misery and contempt. Who wants to be deceived by praise, to live in a false dream of friendship, where everything about your status is fake, like your false friends? Poor honest Timon, destroyed by his own generosity, ruined by kindness! It's strange— how can someone's worst fault be being too generous? Who would risk being half as kind after this? Giving to others creates gods in people's eyes but ruins the giver. My dear lord, so blessed yet cursed, rich but miserable—your wealth has become your greatest source of pain. Dear lord, he's fled angry from these ungrateful friends, with nothing to support himself. I'll find him. I'll always serve him faithfully. As long as I have money, I'll keep serving him.
wealth brings pain & contempt who wants to be rich who wants fake friends timon destroyed by his own kindness whos kind anymore after this he's broke alone angry im gonna find him im gonna serve him il help as long as i have money
The Reckoning
In this short scene, the servants a ruined man leaves behind show the loyalty his rich friends never did. The lords who feasted at Timon's table have vanished. The people who carried the dishes stay, still wearing 'Timon's livery' in their hearts. Their images are of burial and shipwreck: friends 'slink all away' like mourners leaving a grave, and the household is a leaking ship on a 'dying deck.' Flavius's line 'We have seen better days' is a small funeral bell for the house. Notice his soliloquy too. He calls Timon 'undone by goodness,' wrecked because 'bounty, that makes gods, does still mar men.' That is the play's central paradox. Flavius, giving away his last gold, is the living exception to Timon's coming belief that all men are false.
If this happened today…
The company has gone under overnight. The founder who threw the lavish parties has stopped answering his phone, and the investors who toasted him have already moved on. You and the rest of the staff stand in the empty office, not sure whether you've been paid. The office manager has nothing left either, but she empties her own account and hands everyone an envelope. You hug, you all say 'we had a good run,' and you leave by different doors. She stays behind and starts looking for the boss's new address.