Athens. A hall in Timon's house.
Enter Poet, Painter, Jeweller, Merchant, and others, at several doors
Poet
Good day, sir.
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.'