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' 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?