Poet. When we for recompense have praised the vile, It stains the glory in that happy verse Which aptly sings the good.
Perhaps he is thinking of himself. The Merchant and Jeweller do not hear him;—they stand in twos at opposite sides of the stage.
Merchant. 'Tis a good form. [Looking at the jewel.
He observes only that the stone is well cut; but the Jeweller adds,—
Jeweller. And rich: here is a water, look you.
While they are interested in this and move backward, the two others come nearer the front.
Painter. You are rapt, Sir, in some work, some dedication
To the great lord.
This is said, of course, with reference to the other's recent soliloquy.
And now we are going to know them.
Poet. A thing slipped idly from me.
Our poesy is as a gum, which oozes
From whence 'tis nourished. The fire i' the flint
Shows not till it be struck; our gentle flame
Provokes itself, and like the current files
Each bound it chafes.—What have you there?
We perceive that he is a poet, and a rather rhetorical than sincere one.
He has the art, but, as we shall see, not the heart.