POET. Good day, sir. PAINTER. I am glad y'are 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 conjur'd 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; breath'd, 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. When we for recompense have prais'd 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 slipp'd idly from me. Our poesy is as a gum, which oozes From whence 'tis nourish'd. The fire i' th' 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. 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 th' 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