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Stew. Heauens, haue I said, the bounty of this Lord: How many prodigall bits haue Slaues and Pezants This night englutted: who is not Timons, What heart, head, sword, force, meanes, but is L[ord]. Timons: Great Timon, Noble, Worthy, Royall Timon: Ah, when the meanes are gone, that buy this praise, The breath is gone, whereof this praise is made: Feast won, fast lost; one cloud of Winter showres, These flyes are coucht