Original: Each man to his stool, with that spur as he would to the lip of his mistress: your diet shall be in all places alike.
Modern: Everyone take your seat, rushing to it as eagerly as you would rush to kiss your lover: you’ll all eat the same food everywhere.

Original: Make not a city feast of it, to let the meat cool ere we can agree upon the first place: sit, sit.
Modern: Don’t make this like a fancy banquet where the food gets cold while we argue about who sits where: just sit down, sit down.

Original: The gods require our thanks.
Modern: The gods demand that we thank them.

Original: You great benefactors, sprinkle our society with thankfulness.
Modern: You generous gods, scatter gratitude throughout our community.

Original: For your own gifts, make yourselves praised: but reserve still to give, lest your deities be despised.
Modern: Make people praise you for what you give them, but keep giving, or else people will start to hate you gods.

Original: Lend to each man enough, that one need not lend to another; for, were your godheads to borrow of men, men would forsake the gods.
Modern: Give each person enough so they don’t need to borrow from each other; because if you gods had to borrow from people, people would abandon you.

Original: Make the meat be beloved more than the man that gives it.
Modern: Make people love the food more than the person who provides it.

Original: Let no assembly of twenty be without a score of villains: if there sit twelve women at the table, let a dozen of them be—as they are.
Modern: Make sure every group of twenty people includes twenty villains: if there are twelve women at the table, let all twelve of them be—exactly what they are.

Original: The rest of your fees, O gods—the senators of Athens, together with the common lag of people—what is amiss in them, you gods, make suitable for destruction.
Modern: As for the rest of your subjects, O gods—the senators of Athens and the lowest common people—whatever is wrong with them, gods, make them fit for destruction.

Original: For these my present friends, as they are to me nothing, so in nothing bless them, and to nothing are they welcome.
Modern: As for these so-called friends here, since they mean nothing to me, bless them with nothing, and they’re welcome to nothing.

Original: Uncover, dogs, and lap.
Modern: Remove the covers, you dogs, and drink it up.

In Act III, Scene 6 of “Timon of Athens,” Timon hosts what appears to be another lavish banquet for the Athenian lords who have recently refused to help him in his financial distress. The guests arrive expecting the same generous hospitality Timon previously showed them, and they make excuses for their earlier refusals to lend him money. They express false concern for Timon’s welfare and attempt to justify their actions, while Timon maintains a facade of his former gracious host persona, welcoming them warmly and inviting them to dine.

When the covered dishes are brought to the table and revealed, the guests discover they contain only warm water and stones rather than food. Timon then launches into a furious tirade against the assembled lords, cursing them for their ingratitude and hypocrisy. He throws the water and stones at them, driving them from his house while denouncing Athens and all its inhabitants. After violently expelling his false friends, Timon declares his intention to leave Athens entirely and retreat into the wilderness, abandoning the city and civilization that have betrayed him. The lords flee in confusion and fear, and Timon departs, stripped of his former identity as Athens’ most generous benefactor.

Timon of Athens tells the story of a wealthy Athenian nobleman whose excessive generosity leads to his downfall. In the first half of the play, Timon lavishes gifts, throws extravagant banquets, and freely lends money to anyone who asks, despite warnings from his loyal steward Flavius about his dwindling finances. Timon dismisses these concerns, believing his generosity will be repaid by the loyalty of his many friends. However, his creditors eventually come calling, and Timon discovers he has no money left to pay his debts.

When Timon’s financial ruin becomes apparent, he sends servants to ask his former friends and beneficiaries for loans to help him through his crisis. One by one, they all refuse him with various excuses - Lucilius claims his money is tied up in investments, Lucullus pretends not to be home, and Sempronius feels insulted that Timon didn’t ask him first. Faced with this universal rejection, Timon invites all his false friends to one final feast, where he serves them warm water and stones, then curses them and banishes himself from Athens.

Timon retreats to a cave in the wilderness outside Athens, where he becomes a misanthropic hermit, railing against humanity and civilization. While digging for roots to eat, he discovers gold in the earth. Various visitors come to see him in his exile, including the loyal Flavius, the philosopher Apemantus (who had always criticized Timon’s generosity), thieves seeking the gold, and the exiled general Alcibiades who is marching against Athens. Timon gives away the gold freely but refuses all attempts at reconciliation or friendship. The play ends with news of Timon’s death reaching Athens, where Alcibiades has successfully taken the city and promises to restore order and justice.