5GOod day Sir.

6Pain. I am glad y'are well.

7Poet. I haue not seene you long, how goes

8the World?

9Pain. It weares sir, as it growes.

10Poet. I that's well knowne:

11But what particular Rarity? What strange,

12Which manifold record not matches: see

13Magicke of Bounty, all these spirits thy power

14Hath coniur'd to attend.

15I know the Merchant.

16Pain. I know them both: th'others a Ieweller.

17Mer. O 'tis a worthy Lord.

18Iew. Nay that's most fixt.

19Mer. A most incomparable man, breath'd as it were,

20To an vntyreable and continuate goodnesse:

21He passes.

22Iew. I haue a Iewell heere.

23Mer. O pray let's see't. For the Lord Timon, sir?

24Iewel. If he will touch the estimate. But for that---

25Poet. When we for recompence haue prais'd the vild,

26It staines the glory in that happy Verse,

27Which aptly sings the good.

28Mer. 'Tis a good forme.

29Iewel. And rich: heere is a Water looke ye.

30Pain. You are rapt sir, in some worke, some Dedica-

31tion to the great Lord.

32Poet. A thing slipt idlely from me.

33Our Poesie is as a Gowne, which vses

34From whence 'tis nourisht: the fire i'th'Flint

35Shewes not, till it be strooke: our gentle flame

36Prouokes it selfe, and like the currant flyes

37Each bound it chases. What haue you there?

38Pain. A Picture sir: when comes your Booke forth?

39Poet. Vpon the heeles of my presentment sir.

40Let's see your peece.

41Pain. 'Tis a good Peece.

42Poet. So 'tis, this comes off well, and excellent.

43Pain. Indifferent.

44Poet. Admirable: How this grace

45Speakes his owne standing: what a mentall power

46This eye shootes forth? How bigge imagination

47Moues in this Lip, to th'dumbnesse of the gesture,

48One might interpret.

49Pain. It is a pretty mocking of the life:

50Heere is a touch: Is't good?

51Poet. I will say of it,

52It Tutors Nature, Artificiall strife

53Liues in these toutches, liuelier then life.

55Pain. How this Lord is followed.

56Poet. The Senators of Athens, happy men.

57Pain. Looke moe.

58Po. You see this confluence, this great flood of visitors,

59I haue in this rough worke, shap'd out a man

60Whom this beneath world doth embrace and hugge

61With amplest entertainment: My free drift

62Halts not particularly, but moues it selfe

63In a wide Sea of wax, no leuell'd malice

64Infects one comma in the course I hold,

65But flies an Eagle flight, bold, and forth on,

66Leauing no Tract behinde.

67Pain. How shall I vnderstand you?

68Poet. I will vnboult to you.

69You see how all Conditions, how all Mindes,

70As well of glib and slipp'ry Creatures, as

71Of Graue and austere qualitie, tender downe

72Their seruices to Lord Timon: his large Fortune,

73Vpon his good and gracious Nature hanging,

74Subdues and properties to his loue and tendance

75All sorts of hearts; yea, from the glasse-fac'd Flatterer

76To Apemantus, that few things loues better

77Then to abhorre himselfe; euen hee drops downe

78The knee before him, and returnes in peace

79Most rich in Timons nod.

80Pain. I saw them speake together.

81Poet. Sir, I haue vpon a high and pleasant hill

82Feign'd Fortune to be thron'd.

83The Base o'th'Mount

84Is rank'd with all deserts, all kinde of Natures

85That labour on the bosome of this Sphere,

86To propagate their states; among'st them all,

87Whose eyes are on this Soueraigne Lady fixt,

88One do I personate of Lord Timons frame,

89Whom Fortune with her Iuory hand wafts to her,

90Whose present grace, to present slaues and seruants

91Translates his Riuals.

92Pain. 'Tis conceyu'd, to scope

93This Throne, this Fortune, and this Hill me thinkes