PAINTER.
He and myself
Have travailed in the great shower of your gifts,
And sweetly felt it.
TIMON.
Ay, you are honest men.
PAINTER.
We are hither come to offer you our service.
TIMON.
Most honest men! Why, how shall I requite you?
Can you eat roots and drink cold water? No?
BOTH.
What we can do we’ll do, to do you service.
TIMON.
Ye’re honest men. Ye’ve heard that I have gold,
I am sure you have. Speak truth, you’re honest men.
PAINTER.
So it is said, my noble lord; but therefore
Came not my friend nor I.
TIMON.
Good honest men! [To Painter.] Thou draw’st a counterfeit
Best in all Athens. Thou’rt indeed the best,
Thou counterfeit’st most lively.
PAINTER.
So so, my lord.
TIMON.
E’en so, sir, as I say. [To the Poet.] And for thy fiction,
Why, thy verse swells with stuff so fine and smooth
That thou art even natural in thine art.
But for all this, my honest-natured friends,
I must needs say you have a little fault.
Marry, ’tis not monstrous in you, neither wish I
You take much pains to mend.