Tim. I left him now Sir.
Leon. Tell me truely, out of your free opinion without
courting. How you like him.
Tim. How I like him?
Leon. Yes: for you in conversation may see more
Than a Father.
Bac. It works.
Timantus. Your Grace has chosen out an ill observer.
Leon. Yes, I mean of his ill: you talk rightly.
Tim. But you take me wrong: All I know by him
I dare deliver boldly: He is the storehouse
And head of virtue; your great self excepted,
That feeds the Kingdome.
Leon. These are flatteries: speak me his vices, there you
do a service worth a Fathers thanks.
Tim. Sir, I cannot. If there be any, sure they are the
times which I could wish less dangerous.
But pardon me, I am too bold.