Poet. Ay, that's well known:— But what particular rarity? what strange, That manifold record not matches? See,
And we fancy him waving his hand in an enthusiastic manner,—
Magic of bounty! all these spirits thy power
Hath conjured to attend.
Which manner is only a high-flowing habit, for he adds in the same breath, dropping his figure suddenly,—
I know the merchant.
Painter. I know them both; t'other's a jeweller.
It is certainly natural that painters should know jewellers,—and, perhaps, that poets should be able to recognize merchants, though the converse might not hold. We now know who the next speakers are, and soon distinguish them.
Merchant. Oh, 'tis a worthy lord!
Jeweller. Nay, that's most fixed.
Merchant. A most incomparable man; breathed as it were
To an untirable and continuate goodness:
He passes.
Jeweller. I have a jewel here.
The Jeweller being known, the Merchant is; and, it will be noticed that the first speaks in a cautious manner.
Merchant. Oh, pray, let's see it! For the lord Timon, Sir? Jeweller. If he will touch the estimate; but, for that——
We begin to suspect who is the "magic of bounty" and the "incomparable man," and also to have an idea that all these people have come to his house to see him.—While the Merchant examines the jewel, the first who spoke, the high-flown individual, is pacing and talking to himself near the one he met:—