So runs the decree. I had designed also to present to you my son, whom I have named Timon after you.

Why, I thought you were a bachelor, Demeas,

Ah, but I intend to marry next year; my child—which is to be a boy—I hereby name Timon.

I doubt whether you will feel like marrying, my man, when I have given you—this!

Oh Lord! what is that for? ... You are plotting a coup d’état, you Timon; you assault free men, and you are neither a free man nor a citizen yourself. You shall soon be called to account for your crimes; it was you set fire to the Acropolis, for one thing.