He likewise enrich'd poor straggling soldiers
with
great quantity. 'Tis said he gave unto his steward a mighty
sum.
POET. Then this breaking of his has been but a try for his
friends?
PAINTER. Nothing else. You shall see him a palm in Athens
again,
and flourish with the highest. Therefore 'tis not amiss we
tender
our loves to him in this suppos'd distress of his; it will
show
honestly in us, and is very likely to load our purposes with
what
they travail for, if it be just and true report that goes of
his
having.
POET. What have you now to present unto him?
PAINTER. Nothing at this time but my visitation; only I will
promise him an excellent piece.
POET. I must serve him so too, tell him of an intent that's
coming
toward him.
PAINTER. Good as the best. Promising is the very air o' th'
time;
it opens the eyes of expectation. Performance is ever the
duller
for his act, and but in the plainer and simpler kind of
people
the deed of saying is quite out of use. To promise is most
courtly and fashionable; performance is a kind of will or
testament which argues a great sickness in his judgment that
makes it.
Enter TIMON from his cave
TIMON.
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