makes it.

[Enter TIMON from his cave.]

TIMON.
[Aside.] Excellent workman! Thou canst not paint a man so bad
as is thyself.

POET.
I am thinking what I shall say I have provided for him. It
must be a personating of himself; a satire against the softness
of prosperity, with a discovery of the infinite flatteries that
follow youth and opulency.

TIMON.
[Aside.] Must thou needs stand for a villain in thine own
work? Wilt thou whip thine own faults in other men? Do so, I have
gold for thee.

POET.
Nay, let's seek him;
Then do we sin against our own estate
When we may profit meet, and come too late.

PAINTER.
True;
When the day serves, before black--corner'd night,
Find what thou want'st by free and offer'd light.
Come.