When comes your book forth?
Poet Upon the heels of my presentment, sir.
Let's see your piece.
Painter 'Tis a good piece.
Poet So 'tis: this comes off well and excellent.
Painter Indifferent.
Poet Admirable: how this grace
Speaks his own standing! what a mental power
This eye shoots forth! how big imagination
Moves in this lip! to the dumbness of the gesture
One might interpret.
Painter It is a pretty mocking of the life.
Here is a touch; is't good?
Poet I will say of it,
It tutors nature: artificial strife
Lives in these touches, livelier than life.
[Enter certain Senators, and pass over]
Painter How this lord is follow'd!
Poet The senators of Athens: happy man!
Painter Look, more!
Poet You see this confluence, this great flood
of visitors.
I have, in this rough work, shaped out a man,
Whom this beneath world doth embrace and hug
With amplest entertainment: my free drift
Halts not particularly, but moves itself
In a wide sea of wax: no levell'd malice
Infects one comma in the course I hold;
But flies an eagle flight, bold and forth on,
Leaving no tract behind.
Painter How shall I understand you?
Poet I will unbolt to you.
You see how all conditions, how all minds,
As well of glib and slippery creatures as
Of grave and austere quality, tender down
Their services to Lord Timon: his large fortune
Upon his good and gracious nature hanging
Subdues and properties to his love and tendance
All sorts of hearts; yea, from the glass-faced flatterer
To Apemantus, that few things loves better
Than to abhor himself: even he drops down
The knee before him, and returns in peace
Most rich in Timon's nod.
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