Jeweler

Poet
Good day, sir.
Painter
I am glad you’re well.
Poet
I have not seen you long. How goes the world?
Painter
It wears, sir, as it grows.

I will say of it,
It tutors nature. Artificial strife
Lives in these touches livelier than life.

Poet
Ay,
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Timon
Sir, your jewel
Hath suffered under praise.
Jeweler
What, my lord? Dispraise?

Things of like value, differing in the owners,
Are prizèd by their masters. Believe ’t, dear lord,
You mend the jewel by the wearing it

Timon
A mere satiety of commendations.
If I should pay you for ’t as ’tis extolled,
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