Poet. Ay, that’s well known. 
  Bat what particular rarity? what so strange,
  That manifold record not matches?

  Pain. See!

  Poet. Magick of—­bounty, &c.

It may not be improperly observed here, that as there is only one copy of this play, no help can be had from collation, and more liberty must be allowed to conjecture.

I.i.10 (272,4) breath’d as it were/To an untirable and continuate goodness] Breathed is inured by constant practice; so trained as not to be wearied.  To breathe_ a horse, is to exercise him for the course.

I.i.20 (273,8) Poet.

  A thing slipt idly from me. 
  Our poesy is as a gum, which oozes
  From whence ‘tis nourished.  The fire i’ the flint
  Shews not, ’till it be struck:  our gentle flame
  Provokes itself, and, like the current flies
  Each bound it chafes.  What have you there!]

This speech of the poet is very obscure.  He seems to boast the copiousness and facility of his vein, by declaring that verses drop from a poet as gums from odoriferous trees, and that his flame kindles itself without the violence necessary to elicit sparkles from the flint.  What follows next? that it, like a current, flies each bound it chafes.  This may mean, that it expands itself notwithstanding all obstructions:  but the images in the comparison are so ill-sorted, and the effect so obscurely expressed, that I cannot but think something omitted that connected the last sentence with the former.  It is well knovn that the players often shorten speeches to quicken the representation; and it may be suspected, that they sometimes performed their amputations with more haste than judgment, (see 1765, VI, 169, 6)

I.i.27 (274,9) Poet.  Upon the heels of my presentment, sir.] As soon as my book has been presented to lord Timon.

I.i.29 (274,1) This comes off weil and excellent] [By this we are to understand what the painters call the goings off of a picture, which requires the nicest execution.  WARBURTON.] The note I understand less than the text.  The meaning is, This figure rises weil from the canvas. C’est bien releve.

I.i.37 (275,3) artificial strife] Strife is either the contest or act with nature.

  Hic ille est Raphael, timuit, quo aospite vinci
  Rerum magna parens, & moriente, mori.

Or it is the contrast of forms or opposition of colours.

I.i.43 (275,4) this confluence, this great flood of visitors] Mane salutantum totis vomit aedibus undam.

I.1.46 (275,5) Halts not particularly] My design does not stop at any single characters.

I.1.47 (276,7)

no levell’d malice Infects one comma in the course I hold; But flies an eagle-flight, bold, and forth on, Leaving no tract behind]

To level is to aim, to point the shot at a mark.  Shakespeare’s meaning is, my poem is not a satire written with any particular view, or levelled at any single person; I fly like an eagle into the general expanse of life, and leave not, by any private mischief, the trace of my passage.