Painter I am glad you're well.
Poet I have not seen you long: how goes the world?
Painter It wears, sir, as it grows.
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 O, 'tis a worthy lord.
Jeweller Nay, that's most fix'd.
Merchant A most incomparable man, breathed, as it were,
To an untirable and continuate goodness:
He passes.
Jeweller: I have a jewel here--
Merchant O, pray, let's see't: for the Lord Timon, sir?
Jeweller: If he will touch the estimate: but, for that--
Poet [Reciting to himself] 'When we for recompense have
praised the vile,
It stains the glory in that happy verse
Which aptly sings the good.'
Merchant 'Tis a good form.
[Looking at the jewel]
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 slipp'd idly from me.
Our poesy is as a gum, which oozes
From whence 'tis nourish'd: the fire i' the flint
Shows not till it be struck; our gentle flame
Provokes itself and like the current flies
Each bound it chafes. What have you there?
Painter A picture, sir.
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