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 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'll say of it,
It tutors nature: artificial strife