Timon of Athens

Enter Poet, Painter, Jeweller and Merchant at several doors.

POET. I have not seen you long. How goes the world?

POET. Ay, that’s well known. But what particular rarity? What strange, Which manifold record not matches? See, Magic of bounty, all these spirits thy power Hath conjured to attend! I know the merchant.

PAINTER. I know them both. Th’ other’s a jeweller.

MERCHANT. A most incomparable man, breathed, as it were, To an untirable and continuate goodness. He passes.

MERCHANT. O, pray let’s see’t. For the Lord Timon, sir?

JEWELLER. If he will touch the estimate. But for that—

POET. When we for recompense have praised the vile, It stains the glory in that happy verse Which aptly sings the good.

MERCHANT. [Looking at the jewel.] ’Tis a good form.

JEWELLER. And rich. Here is a water, look ye.

PAINTER. You are rapt, sir, in some work, some dedication To the great lord.

POET. A thing slipped idly from me. Our poesy is as a gum which oozes From whence ’tis nourished. The fire i’ th’ flint Shows not till it be struck; our gentle flame Provokes itself and, like the current, flies Each bound it chases. What have you there?

PAINTER. A picture, sir. When comes your book forth?

POET. Upon the heels of my presentment, sir. Let’s see your piece.

POET. So ’tis. This comes off well and excellent.