Alex. Why, is it so easy?

Apel. No; but he doth it so homely.1 Alex. When will you finish Campaspe? Apel. Never finish; for always in absolute beauty there is somewhat above art.

Alex. Why should not I, by labour, be as cunning as Apelles?

Apel. God shield3 you should have cause to be so cunning as Apelles!

Alex. Methinketh four colours are sufficient to shadow any countenance, and so it was in the time of Phidias.

Apel. Then had men fewer fancies, and women not so many favours. For now, if the hair of her eyebrows be black, yet must the hair of her head be yellow: the attire of her head must be different from the habit of her body, else would the picture seem like the blazon of ancient armoury, not like the sweet delight of new-found amiableness. For as, in garden knots, diversity of odours make a more sweet savour, or as, in music, divers strings cause a more delicate consent, so in painting, the more colours the better counterfeit; observing black for a ground, and the rest for grace.

Alex. Lend me thy pencil, Apelles; I will paint, and thou shalt judge. Apel. Here.

Aler. The coal breaks.
Apel. You lean too hard.
Alex. Now it blacks not.
Apel. You lean too soft.
Aler. This is awry.

Apel. Your eye goeth not with your hand.
Alex. Now it is worse.

Apel. Your hand goeth not with your mind. Alex. Nay, if all be too hard or soft, so many rules and regards, that one's hand, one's eye, one's mind must all draw together, I had rather be setting of a battles than blotting of a board.10 But how have I done here?

Psyllus. I shall be hanged for tarrying so long. Manes. I pray God my master be not flown before I come.

Psyllus. Away, Manes! my master doth come.
Apel. Where have you been all this while?
Psyllus. Nowhere but here.

Apel. Who was here sithens my coming?
Psyllus. Nobody.

Apel. Ungracious wag, I perceive you have been aloitering. Was Alexander nobody? Psyllus. He was a king; I meant no mean body.

Apel. I will cudgel your body for it, and then will I say it was no body, because it was no honest body. Away in. Exit Psyllus.] Unfortunate Apelles, and therefore unfortunate because Apelles! Hast thou, by drawing her beauty, brought to pass that thou canst scarce draw thine own breath? And by so much the more hast thou increased thy care, by how much the more thou hast showed thy cunning: was it not sufficient to behold the fire, and warm thee, but with Satyrus thou must kiss the fire and burn thee? O Campaspe, Campaspe, art must yield to nature, reason to appetite, wisdom to affection! Could Pygmalion 2 entreat by prayer to have his ivory turned into flesh? and cannot Apelles obtain by plaints to have the picture of his love changed to life? Is painting so far inferior to carving? or dost thou, Venus, more delight to be hewed with chisels then shadowed with colours? What Pygmalion, or what Pyrgoteles, or what Lysippus is he, that ever made thy face so fair, or spread thy fame so far as I? unless Venus, in this thou enviest mine art, that in colouring my sweet Campaspe, I have left no place by cuuning to make thee so amiBut alas! she is the paramour to a prince: Alexander, the monarch of the earth, hath both her body and affection. For what is it that kings cannot obtain by prayers, threats, and promises? Will not she think it better to sit under a cloth of estate like a queen, than in a poor shop like a housewife? and esteem it sweeter to be the concubine of the lord of the

Yes, yes, Apelles, thou mayest swim against the stream with the crab, and feed against the wind with the deer, and peck against the steel with the cockatrice: stars are to be looked at, not reached

1 Dodsley (ed. 1744) reads courteous: vielding modesty, i e. modesty without prudery.

2 Pygmalion, a king of Cyrus, is said to have fallen in love with the ivory image of a maiden, which he himsel had made; and, on Venus answering his prayer to breathe life into it, married the maiden.

3 plaints-lamentations, or violent entreaties. Pyrgoteles was a celebrated gem engraver, and Lysippus a distinguished statuary of ancient Greece, both contemporaries of Apelles.

The canopy placed over royalty.

6 cockatrice-from cock, and Anglo-Saxon ater, a snake; supposed to be produced from a cock's egg, with the head of a cock and body of a serpent. It was said to have a deadly eye, and many fables are told about it. It was supposed to have the power to pierce steel by pecking at it.

People. Dog! dog! take a bone!

Diog. Thy father need fear no dogs, but dogs thy father.

People. We will tell Alexander that thou reprovest him behind his back.

Diog. And I will tell him that you flatter him before his face.

People. We will cause all the boys in the street to hiss at thee.

Diog. Indeed, I think the Athenians have their children ready for any vice, because they be Athenians.

Manes. Why, master, mean you not to fly? Diog. No, Manes, not without wings. Manes. Everybody will account you a liar. Diog. No, I warrant you; for I will always say the Athenians are mischievous.

Psyllus. I care not, it was sport enough for me to see these old huddles hit home.

Camp. [alone.] 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 further into thy mind than a prince? Apelles, than Alexander? 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.

Apel. Gentlewoman, the misfortune I had with your picture will put you to some pains to sit again to be painted.

Camp. It is small pains for me to sit still, but infinite for you to draw still.

Apel. No, Madam. To paint Venus was a pleasure; but to shadow the sweet face of Campaspe, it is a heaven!

Camp. 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's sake, you call them beautiful whom you know black.

Apel. What might men do to be believed?
Camp. Whet their tongue on their hearts.
Apel. So they do, and speak as they think,
Camp. I would they did!
Apel. I would they did not!

Camp. 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?

Camp. So that you will answer me another without excuse.

Apel. Whom do you love best in the world? Camp. He that made me last in the world. Apel. That was a god.

Camp. I had thought it had been a man. But whom do you honour most, Apelles?

Apel. The thing that is likest you, Campaspe. Camp. 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.

ACT IV.-SCENE III.

CLYTUS, PARMENIO.

Clytus. We hear nothing of our embassage;2 a colour belike to blear' our eyes, or tickle our ears, or inflame our hearts. But what doth Alexander in the mean season, but use for tantara 5. sol, fa, la; for his hard couch, down beds; for his handful of water, his standing cup of wine?

Par. 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 furnished with foot-cloths of gold instead of saddles of steel; more time to be required to scour 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 posiess of love in their rings; they that were accustomed on trotting horses to charge the enemy with a lance, 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, gloves worn in velvet caps, instead of plumes in graven helmets,-thou would'st either die among them for sorrow, or confound them for anger.

Clytus. Cease, Parmenio, lest, in speaking what becometh thee not, thou feel what liketh thee not. Truth is never without a scratch'd face, whose tongue, although it cannot be cut out, yet must it be tied up.

Par. It grieveth me not a little for Hephestion, who thirsteth for honour, not ease; but such is his fortune and nearness in friendship to Alexander, that he must lay a pillow under his head

when he would put a target in his hand. But let us draw in, to see how well it becomes them to tread the measures in a dance, that were wont to set the order for a march. [Exeunt.

ACT IV.-SCENE IV.

APELLES, CAMPASPE.

Apel. I have now, Campaspe, almost made an end.

Camp. You told me, Apelles, you would never end.

Apel. Never end my love; for it shall be eternal.

Camp. That is, neither to have beginning nor ending.

Apel. You are disposed to mistake; I hope you do not mistrust.

Camp. What will you say if Alexander perceive your love?

Apel. I will say it is no treason to love.

Camp. But how if he will not suffer thee to see my person?

Apel. Then will I gaze continually on thy picture.

Camp. That will not feed thy heart.

Apel. Yet shall it fill mine eye. Besides, the sweet thoughts, the sure hopes, thy protested faith, will cause me to embrace thy shadow continually in mine arms, of the which, by strong imagination, I will make a substance.

Camp. Well, I must be gone; but this assure yourself, that I had rather be in thy shop grinding colours, than in Alexander's court, following higher fortunes. [Campaspe 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. O 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 maketh 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 kings, love, Jove, and lightning. [Exit.

ACT IV.-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.

Page. 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.
Apel. It may be I have painted none so well.

1 hoise-hoist.

Syl. I have brought my sons, Diogenes, to be taught of thee.

Diog. What can thy sons do?

Dance,

Syl. You shall see their qualities. sirrah! Then Perim danceth.] How like you this? doth he well?

Diog. The better the worser.
Syl. The music very good.

Diog. The musicians very bad; who only study to have their strings in tune, never framing their manners to order.

Syl. Now shall you see the other. Tumble, sirrah! [Milo tumbleth.] How like you this? why do you laugh?

Diog. To see a wag, that was born to break his neck by destiny, to practise it by art.

Milo. This dog will bite me; I will not be with him.

Diog. Fear not, boy; dogs eat no thistles. Perim. I marvel what dog thou art, if thou be a dog.

Diog. When I am hungry, a mastiff; and when my belly is full, a spaniel.

Syl. Dost thou believe that there are any gods, that thou art so dogged?

Diog. I must needs believe there are gods, for I think thee an enemy to them. Syl. Why so?

Diog. 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.

Perim. Thou doest nothing but snarl and bark like a dog.

Diog. It is the next' way to drive away a thief. Syl. Now shall you hear the third, who sings like a nightingale.

Diog. I care not, for I have a nightingale to sing herself. Syl. Sing, sirrah!

[Trico singeth.] SONG.

What bird so sings, yet so does wail?
O'tis the ravish'd nightingale.

Jug, jug, jug, jug, tereu,' she cries,
And still her woes at midnight rise.
Brave prick-song!2 who is't now we hear?
None but the lark, so shrill and clear;
How at heaven's gates she claps her wings,
The morn not waking till she sings.
Hark! hark! with what a pretty throat
Poor robin redbreast tunes his note!
Hark how the jolly cuckoos sing,
'Cuckoo!' to welcome in the spring;
'Cuckoo!' to welcome in the spring.

Syl. Lo, Diogenes! I am sure thou canst not do so much.

Diog. But there is never a thrush but can.
Syl. What hast thou taught Manes, thy man?
Diog. To be as unlike as may be thy sons.

Manes. He hath taught me to fast, lie hard, and run away.

Syl. How sayest thou, Perim, wilt thou be with him?

Perim. I, so he will teach me first to run away. Diog. Thou needest not be taught, thy legs are so nimble.

Syl. How sayest thou, Milo, wilt thou be with him?

Diog. Nay, hold your peace; he shall not.
Syl. Why?

Diog. There is not room enough for him and me to tumble both in one tub.

Syl. Well, Diogenes, I perceive my sons brook not thy manners.

Diog. I thought no less, when they knew my virtues.

Syl. Farewell, Diogenes; thou neededst not have scraped roots' if thou wouldst have fol

lowed Alexander.

Diog. Nor thou have followed Alexander if thou hadst scraped roots. [Exeunt.

ACT V.-SCENE II.

Apel. [alone.] I fear me, Apelles, that thine eyes have blabbed that which thy tongue durst not. What little regard hadst thou, whilst Alexander viewed the counterfeit of Campaspe, thou stoodest gazing on her countenance! If he espy, or but suspect, thou must needs twice perish, with his hate and thine own love. Thy pale looks when he blushed, thy sad countenance when he smiled, thy sighs when he questioned, may breed in him a jealousy, perchance a frenzy. O love! I never before knew what thou wert, and now hast thou made me that I know not what

inyself am; only this I know, that I must endure intolerable passions for unknown pleasures! Disbate not the cause, wretch, but yield to it; for better it is to melt with desire than wrestle with love. Cast thyself on thy careful bed; be content to live unknown, and die unfound." Campaspe! I have painted thee in my heart: painted? nay, contrary to mine art, imprinted; and that in such deep characters, that nothing can raise it out, unless it rub my heart out.

ACT V.-SCENE III.

MILECTUS, PHRYGIUS, LAIS, DIOGENES.

[Exit.

Mil. It shall go hard, but this peace shall bring us some pleasure.

Phry. Down with arms, and up with legs, this is a world for the nonce.s

Lais. Sweet youths, if you knew what it were to save your sweet blood, you would not so foolishly go about to spend it. What delight can there be in gashing, to make foul scars in fair faces, and crooked maims in straight legs? as though men, being born goodly' by nature, would of purpose become deformed by folly; and all, forsooth, for a new-found term, called valiant,

-a word which breedeth more quarrels than the sense can commendation.

Mil. It is true, Lais, a feather bed hath no fellow; good drink makes good blood, and shall pelting words spill it?

Phry. I mean to enjoy the world, and to draw out my life at the wire-drawer's, not to curtail it off at the cutler's.

Lais. You may talk of war, speak big, conquer worlds with great words: but stay at home, where, instead of alarums you shall have dances; for hot battles with fierce men, gentle skirmishes with fair women. These pewter2 coats can never sit so well as satin doublets. Believe me, you cannot conceive the pleasure of peace, unless you despise the rudeness of war.

Mil. It is so. But see Diogenes prying over his tub. Diogenes, what sayest thou to such a morsel?

Diog. I say, I would spit it out of my mouth, because it should not poison my stomach. Phry. Thou speakest as thou art; it is no meat for dogs.

Diog. I am a dog; and philosophy rates me from carrion.

Lais. Uncivil wretch, whose manners are answerable to thy calling, the time was thou wouldst have had my company, had it not been, as thou saidst, too dear.

Diog. I remember there was a thing that I repented me of, and now thou hast told it; indeed, it was too dear of nothing, and thou dear to nobody.

Lais. Down, villain! or I will have thy head broken.

Mil. Will you couch? 5

Phry. Avaunt, cur! Come, sweet Lais, let us go to some place and possess peace. But first let us sing; there is more pleasure in tuning of a voice than in a volley of shot.

Mil. Now let us make haste, lest Alexander find us here. [Exeunt.

ACT V.-SCENE IV.

ALEXANDER, HEPHESTION, PAGE, DIOGENES, APELLES, CAMPASPE.

Alex. Methinketh, Hephestion, you are more melancholy than you were accustomed; but, I perceive, it is all for Alexander. You can neither brook this peace nor my pleasure: be of good cheer; though I wink, I sleep not.

Hep. Melancholy I am not, nor well content; for I know not how, there is such a rust crept into my bones with this long ease, that I fear 1 shall not scour it out with infinite labours.

Alex. Yes, yes; if all the travails of conquering the world will set either thy body or mind in tune, we will undertake them. But what think

you of Apelles? Did ye ever see any so perplexed? He neither answered directly to any question, nor looked stedfastly upon anything. I hold my life, the painter is in love.

Hep. It may be; for commonly we see it incident in artificers to be enamoured of their own works, as Archidamus of his wooden dove,