POET.
Then this breaking of his has been but a try for his friends?

PAINTER.
Nothing else. You shall see him a palm in Athens again,
and flourish with the highest. Therefore 'tis not amiss we tender
our loves to him in this supposed distress of his; it will show
honestly in us, and is very likely to load our purposes with what
they travail for, if it be just and true report that goes of his
having.

POET.
What have you now to present unto him?

PAINTER.
Nothing at this time but my visitation; only, I will
promise him an excellent piece.

POET.
I must serve him so too, tell him of an intent that's coming
toward him.

PAINTER.
Good as the best. Promising is the very air o' the time;
it opens the eyes of expectation. Performance is ever the duller
for his act, and, but in the plainer and simpler kind of people,
the deed of saying is quite out of use. To promise is most
courtly and fashionable; performance is a kind of will or
testament which argues a great sickness in his judgment that