a face? O beautiful countenance! the express image of Venus, but somewhat fresher: the only pattern of that eternity which Jupiter dreaming asleep, could not conceive again waking. Blush, Venus, for I am ashamed to end thee. Now must I paint things impossible for mine art, but agreeable with my affections: deep and hollow sighs, sad and melancholy thoughts, wounds and slaughters of conceits, a life posting to death, a death galloping from life, a wavering constancy, an unsettled resolution, and what not, Apelles? and what but Apelles? but as they that are shaken with a fever are to be warmed with clothes, not groans, and as he that melteth in a consumption is to be recured by 28cullises, not conceits; so the feeding canker of my care, the never-dying worm of my heart, is to be killed by counsel, not cries; by applying remedies, not by replying of reasons. And sith in cases desperate there must be used medicines that are extreme, I will hazard that - little life that is left, to restore the greater part that is lost; and this shall be my first practice; for wit must work where authority is not. As soon as Alexander hath viewed this portraiture, I will, by device, give it a blemish, that by that meaus she may come again to my shop, and then as good it were to utter my love, and die with denial, as conceal it, and live in despair. Song by Apelles. 29 Cupid and my Campaspe played He stakes his quiver, bow, and arrows; Sol. This is the place, the day, the time, that Diogenes hath appointed to fly. Psyl. I will not lose the flight of so fair a fowl as Diogenes is, though my master cudgel my nobody, as he threatened. Gra. What, Psyllus, will the beast wag his wings to-day? Psyl. We shall hear, for here cometh ManesManes, will it be? Manes. Be! he were best be as cunning as a bee, or else shortly he will not be at all. Gra. How is he furnished to fly, hath he feathers? Manes. Thou art an ass; capons, geese, and owls, bave feathers. He hath found Dedalus' old waxen wings, aud hath been piecing them this month, he is so broad in the shoulders: O you shall see him cut the air even like a tortoise. Sol. Methinks so wise a man should not be so mad, his body must needs be too heavy. Manes. Why, he hath eaten nothing this se ven-night but cork and feathers. Psyl. Touch him, Manes. Manes. He is so light that he can scarce keep him from flying at midnight. Populus intrat. Manes. See, they begin to flock, and behold my master bustles himself to fly. Dio. Ye wicked and bewitched Athenians, whose bodies make the earth to groan, and whose breaths infect the air with stench, come ye to see Diogenes fly? Diogenes cometh to see you siuk: you call me dog, so I am, for I long to gnaw the bones in your skins. Ye term me an hater of men; no, I am a hater of your manners. Your lives dissolute, not fearing death, will prove your deaths desperate, not hoping for life. What do you else in Athens but sleep in the day, and surfeit in the night? Back-gods in the morning with pride, in the evening belly-gods with gluttony. You flatter kings, and call them gods; speak truth of yourselves, and confess you are devils. From the bee you have taken not the honey, but the wax to make your religion, 23 Cullises-Cullises were compositions calculated to restore worn-out constitutions, and invigorate feeble ones. They were of the same kind as jellies.-See Marston's Fawne, A. 2. S. 1. Massinger's Bondman, A. 4. S. 4. The Picture, A. 1. S. 2. The Emperor of the East, A. 1. S. 2. ; and in most of the plays of the times. 29 This elegant little sonnet is restored from Blount's edition. It is also printed in the third volume of Dr Percy's Reliques of Ancient Poetry, p. 83. A translation of it into French, by an unknown hand, is likewise published in the same volume, p. 348, framing it to the time, not to the truth. Your filthy lust you cover under a courtly colour of love: injuries abroad under the title of policies at home; and sacred malice creepeth under the name of public justice. You have caused Alexander to dry up springs, and plant vines; to sow rocket, and weed endive; to shear sheep, and shrine foxes. All conscience is seared 35 at Athens. Swearing cometh of a hot metal, lying of a quick wit, flattery of a flowing tongue, undecent talk of a merry disposition; all things are lawful at Athens. Either you think there are no gods, or I must think ye are no men. You build as though you should live for ever, and surfeit as though you should die to-morrow. None teacheth true philosophy but Aristotle, because he was the king of school-masters. O times! O men! O corruption in manners! Remember that grech grass must turn to dry hay. When you sleep, you are not sure to wake; and when you rise, not certain to lie down. Look ye never so high, your heads must lie level with your feet. Thus have I flown over your disordered lives, and it you will not amend your manners, I will study to fly farther from you, that I may be nearer to honesty. Sol. Thou ravest, Diogenes, for thy life is different from thy words. Did not I see thee come out of a brothel-house? was it not a shame! Dio. It was no shame to go out, but a shame to go in. Gra. It were a good deed, Manes, to beat thy master. Manes. You were as good eat my master. One of the People. Hast thou made us all fools, and wilt thou not fly? Dio. I tell thee, unless thou be honest, I will fly. Peo. Dog, dog, take a bone. Dio. Thy father need fear no dogs, but dogs thy father. Peo. We will tell Alexander, that thou reprovest him behind his back. Dio. And I will tell him, that you flatter him before his face. Peo. We will cause all the boys in the street to hiss at thee. Dio. Indeed I think the Athenians have their children ready for any vice, because they be Athenians. Manes. Why, master, mean you not to fly? Psyl. I care not, it was sport enough for me Psyl. Come, let us go, and hereafter when I mean to rail upon any body openly, it shall be given out I will fly. [Ereant. SCENE II. CAMPASPE, APELLES. Cam. [sola.] Campaspe, it is hard to judge whether thy choice be more unwise, or thy chance unfortunate. Dost thou prefer--but stay, utter not that in words, which maketh thine ears to glow with thoughts. Tush, better thy tongue wag, than thy heart break. Hath a painter crept farther into thy mind than a prince? Apelies, than Alexander? 32 fond wench! the baseness of thy mind bewrays the meanness of thy birth. But alas, affection is a fire, which kindleth as well in the bramble, as in the oak, and catcheth hold where it first lighteth, not where it may best burn. Larks that mount aloft in the air, build their nests below in the earth; and women that cast their eyes upon kings, may place their hearts upon vassals. A needle will become thy fingers better than a lute, and a distaff is fitter for thy hand than a sceptre. Ants live safely till they have gotten wings; and juniper is not blown up, till it hath gotten an high top. The mean estate is without care as long as it continueth without pride. But here cometh Apelles, in whom I would there were the like affection. Enter APELLES. Apel. Gentlewoman, the misfortune I had-with your picture will put you to some pains to sit again to be painted. 30 Seared-All the editions read sealed, except the last by Mr Dodsley. I have retained his alteration; although sealed may probably be right, being a term in falconry, signifying blinded. 31 Old huddles-This contemptuous term is frequently used by our ancient writers, and is always applied to old people, who are either covetous or subject to any other vice peculiar to old age. As in Euphues, 1581, p. 7: "But as to the stomacke quatted with deinties, all delicates seeme queasie, and as he that surfetteth with wine, useth afterwards to allay with water; so these olde huddles having overcharged their gorges with fancie, accompt all honest recreation mere follye," &c. Ibid. p. 54:"This old miser asking of Aristippus what he woulde take to teach and bring up his sonne, he answered a thousande groates: a thousand groates God shield, answered this olde huddle, I can have two servants of that price!"-See also Tom Tyler and his Wife, 1661, p. 4. 32 Fond wench-It is observed by Mr Steevens (Notes to Shakespeare, Vol. X. p. 619.) that wench originally signified a young woman. The truth of this observation will appear from many instances in the course of these volumes. The word, in the common acceptation of it, is hardly yet disused. T Cam. It is small pains for me to sit still, but | lour belike to blear our eyes, or tickle our ears, infinite for you to draw still. or inflame our hearts. But what doth Alexander Apel. No, madam, to paint Venus was a plea- in the mean season, but use for tantara, sol, fa, sure; but to shadow the sweet face of Cam-la; for his hard couch, down beds; for his handpaspe, it is a heaven. ful of water, his standing cup of wine? Cam. If your tongue were made of the same flesh that your heart is, your words would be as your thoughts are; but such a common thing it is amongst you to commend, that oftentimes for fashion sake you call them beautiful whoin you know black. Apel. What might men do to be believed? Apel. I would they did not. Cam. Why, would you have them dissemble? Apel. Not in love, but their love. But will you give me leave to ask you a question without offence? Cam. So that you will answer me another without excuse. Apel. Whom do you love best in the world? Cam. I had thought it had been a man: but whom do you honour most, Apelles? Apel. The thing that is likest you, Campaspe. Cam. My picture? Apel. I dare not venture upon your person. But come, let us go in; for Alexander will think it long till we return. [Exeunt. SCENE III. CLYTUS, PARMENIO. Cly. We hear nothing of our embassage; a co Pur. Clytus, I mislike this new delicacy and pleasing peace; for what else do we see now than a kind of softness in every man's mind? Bees to make their hives in soldiers helmets, our steeds are furnished with, foot-cloths of gold instead of saddles of steel: More time is required to scower the rust off our weapons, than there was wont to be in subduing the countries of our enemies. Sithence Alexander fell from his hard armour to his soft robes, behold the face of his court; youths that were wont to carry devices of victory in their shields, engrave now posies of love in their rings; they that were accustomed on trotting horses to charge the enemy with a launce, now in easy coaches ride up and down to court ladies; instead of sword and target to hazard their lives, use pen and paper to paint their loves: Yea, such a fear and faintness is grown in court, that they wish rather to hear the blowing of a horn to hunt, than the sound of a trumpet to fight. O Philip, wert thou alive to see this alteration, thy men turned to women, thy soldiers to lovers, 33 gloves worn in velvet caps, instead of plu:nes in graven helmets, thou wouldst either die among them for sorrow, or confound them for anger. Cly. Cease, Parmenio, lest in speaking what becometh thee not, thou feel what 34 liketh thee not; truth is never without a scratched face, whose tongue, although it cannot be cut out, yet must it be tied up. Par. It grieveth me not a little for Hephes 33 Gloves worn in velvet caps, instead of plumes in graven helmets—It is observed by Mr Steevens (Notes on Shakespeare, Vol. IX. p. 467.) that it was "anciently the custom to wear gloves in the hat on three distinct occasions, viz. as the favour of a mistress, the memorial of a friend, and as a mark to be challenged by an enemy. Prince Henry boasts that he will pluck a glove from the commonest creature, and fix it in his helmet;" and Tucca says to Sir Quintilian, in Decker's Satiromastrix: "Thou shalt wear her glove in thy worshipful hat, like to a leather brooch ;" and l'andora, in Lyly's Woman in the Moon, 1597: "He that first presents me with his head, Shall wear my glove in favour of the deed." "Portia, in her assumed character, asks Bassanio for his gloves, which she says she will wear for his sake: &nd King Henry V. gives the pretended glove of Alençon to Fluellen, which afterwards occasions the quarrel with the English soldier." Again, in Hall's Chronicle, 1550, Henry IV. fol. 12; “One part had their plumes at whyt, another hadde them at redde, and the thyrde had them of several colours. One ware on his head-piece his ladies sleve, and another bare on hys helme the glove of his dearlynge." And The Battle of Agincourt, by Drayton, Vol. I. p. 16:— "The nobler youth, the common rank above, On their courvetting coursers mounted fair. Aud he a lock of his dear lady's hair; - 34 Liketh thes-Pleaseth thee. Cam. [alone.] Foolish wench, what hast thou done? that, alas! which cannot be undone, and therefore I fear me undone. But content is such a life, I care not for abundance. ( Apelles, thy love cometh from the heart, but Alexander's from the mouth. The love of kings is like the blowing of winds, which whistle sometimes gently among the leaves, and straightways turn the trees up by the roots; or fire, which warmeth afar off, and burneth near hand; or the sea, which makes men hoise their sails in a flattering calm, and to cut their masts in a rough storm. They place affection by times, by policy, by appointment; if they frown, who dares call them unconstant? if bewray secrets, who will term them untrue? if fall to other loves, who trembles not, if he call them unfaithful? In kings there can be no love, but to queens: for as near must they meet in majesty, as they do in affection. It is requisite to stand aloof from king's love, Jove, and lightning. [Exit. SCENE V. APELLES, PAGE. Apel. Now, Apelles, gather thy wits together: Campaspe is no less wise than fair, thyself must be no less cunning than faithful. It is no small matter to be rival with Alexander. Puge. Apelles, you must come away quickly with the picture; the king thinketh that now you have painted it, you play with it. Apel. If I would play with pictures, I have enough at home. Page. None perhaps you like so well. 35 Tread the measures in a dance—The measures were dances solemn and slow. They were performed at court, and at public entertainments of the societies of law and equity at their halls on particular occa sions. It was formerly not deemed inconsistent with propriety, even for the gravest characters, to join in them; and accordingly at the revels which were celebrated at the Inns of Court, it has not been unusual for the first characters in the law to become performers in treading the measures-See Dugdale's Origines Juridiciales. Sir John Davies, in his poem called Orchestra, 1622, describes them in this manner, S. 65 ‹ "But after these as men more civil grew, He did more grave and solemn measures frame, For ev'ry eye was moved at the sight, With sober wondering, and with sweet delight." Which on the stars did all their lifetime look, Yet all the feet whereon these measures go, Dio. Because thou hast taught one of thy sons to rule his legs, and not to follow learning; the other to bend his body every way, and his mind no way. Per. Thou doest nothing but snarl, and bark like a dog. Dio. It is the next way to drive away a thief. Syl. Now shall you hear the third, who sings like a nightingale. Dio. I care not; for I have heard a nightin Syl. Now shall you see the other-tumble, sir-gale sing herself. rah. [MILO tumbleth.] How like you this? why do you laugh? Dio. To see a wag that was born to break his neck by destiny, to practise it by art. Mi. This dog will bite me, I will not be with him. Dio. Fear not, boy, dogs eat no thistles. Per. I marvel what dog thou art, if thou be a dog. Dio. When I am hungry, a mastiff; and when my belly is full, a spaniel. Syl. Sing, sirrah. SONG, 36 [TRYCO singeth. What bird so sings, yet so does wail? 37 None but the lark so shrill and clear; 36 Song-This song, as the two former, is omitted in all the quarto editions. It is here restored from Blount's edition, where it first appeared. 37 None but the lark, &c.-Milton seems to have had this passage in his mind, when he wrote the following lines in his L'Allegro :— "To hear the lark begin his flight, And singing startle the dull night, Till the dappled dawn doth rise.” And a late elegant writer, Mr F. Coventry, appears also to have been indebted to our author, in the last of the following lines "When morn returns with doubtful light, And Phebe pales her lamp of night; Still let me wander forth anew, And print my footsteps on the dew; What time the swain with ruddy cheek, Prepares to yoke his oxen meek, And early drest in neat array, The milk-maid chanting shrill her lay, Gives the ear a rough good-morrow Soars upright on matin wings, And at the gate of heaven sings." Penshurst, a Poem. Dodsley's Collection of Poems, Vol. IV. |