Behold Manes where thy maister is, seeking either for bones for his dinner, or pinnes for his sleeues. I will goe salute him.

Doe so, butmum not a word that you sawe Manes.

Then staye thou behinde, and I will goe with Psyllus.

All hate to thy peeuish conditions.

O Dogge.

What dost thou seeke for here?

For a man and a beast.

That is easie without thy light to be founde, be not all these men?

Called men.

What beast is it thou lookest for?

The beast my man Manes.

He is a beast in deede that wil serue thee.

So is he that begat thee.

What wouldest thou do, if thou shuldest finde Manes?

Giue him leaue to doe as hee hath done beefore.

Whats that?

To runne away.

Why, hast thou no neede of Manes?

It were a shame for Diogenes to haue neede of Manes, and for Manes to haue no neede of Diogenes.

But put the case he were gone, wouldst thou entertaine any of vs two?

Vppon condition.

What?

That you should tell mee wherefore anye of you both were good.

Why, I am a scholler, and well seene in Philosophy.

And I a prentice, and well seene in paynting.

Well then Granichus, be thou a painter to amende thine ill face, and thou Psyllus a Philosopher to correct thine euil manners. But who is that Manes?

I care not whoe I were so I were not Manes.

You are taken tardie.

Manes, thou knowest the last daye I threw away my dish to drink in my hand, because it was superfluous, now I am determined to put away my man, and serue my selfe: Quia non egeo • ui velte.

Maister, you know a while agoe I ran away, so doe I meane to doe againe, quia'scio • ibi esse argentum.

I know I haue no money, neither will I haue euer a man: for I was resolued long sithēce to put away both my slaues, money and Maues.

So was I determined to shake off both my dogges, hunger and Diogenes.

O sweete concent betweene a crowde and a Iewes harpe.

Come, let vs reconcile them

It shal not neede: for this is their vse, now do they dine one vpon another.

How nowe Manes, art thou gone from thy mayster.

No, I didde but nowe binde my selfe to him.

Why, you were at mortalliars.

In faith no, we brake a bitter iest one vppon another.

Why, thou art as dogged as he.

My father knew them both litle whelpes.

Well, I wil hie me after my maister.

Why, is it supper time with Diogenes?

I, with him at al times when he hath meate.

Why then euerye man to his home, and let vs steale out againe anon.

Where shall we meete.

O Psyllus habeo te leco parentis, thou blessestme.

Stand aside sir boy, till you bee called. Hephestion, how doe yee like the sweete face of Campaspe?

I cannot but commend the stout courage of Timeclea.

Without doubt Campaspe had som great man to her father.

You know Timoclea had Theagines to her brother.

Timoclea stil in thy mouth, art thou not in loue?

Not I.

Not with Timoclea you meane, wherein you resemble the Lapwing, who crieth most where her neast is not. And so you lead me from espying your loue with Campaspe, you cry Timoclea.

Coulde I aswell subdue kingdomes, as I can my thoughtes, or were I as farre from ambition, as I am from loue, all the world would account me as valiaunt in armes as I know my self moderate in affection.

Is loue a vice?

It is no vertue.

Well, nowe shalt thou see what small difference I make betweene Alexander and Hephestion. And sith thou hast beene alwaies partaker of my triumphes, thou shalt be partaker of my tormentes. I loue Hephestion, I loue I loue Campaspe, a thing farre vnfit for a Macedonian, for a king, for Alexander. Whye hangest thou downe thy head Hephestion? blushing to hear that which I am not ashamed to tell.

Might my wordes craue pardon and my counsell credit, I woulde both discharge the duetie of a subiect, for so I am, and the office of a friend, for so I wil.

Speake Hephestion, for whatsoeuer is spoken, Hephestion speaketh to Alexander.

I cannot tell Alexander, whether the reporte be more shamefull to be heard, or the cause sorowfull to be beleeued? What, is the sonne of Phillip, king of Macedon become the subiect of Campaspe, the captiue of Thebes? Is that minde, whose greatnes the world coulde not containe, drawn within the compasse of an idle alluring eie? Wil you handle the spindle with Hercules, when you shuld shake the speare with Achilles? Is the warlike sound of drumme and trumpe turned to the softe noyse of lire and lute, the neighing of barbed steedes, whose loudnes filled the ayre with terrour, and whose breathes dimmed the sunne with smoake, conuerted to delicate tunes and amorous glaunces? O Alexander, that soft and yeelding minde should not bee in him, whose hard and vnconquered heart hath made so many yeelde. But you loue, ah griefe, but whom? Campaspe, ah shame, a maide forsooth vnknowne, vnnoble; and who can tell whether immodest? whose eies are framed by arte to inamour, and whose heart was made by nature to enchaunt. I, but she is bewtiful, yea, but not therefore chaste: I, but she is comly in al partes of the body: yea, but she may be crooked in some parte of the mind; I, but she is wise, yea, but she is a woman: Bewtie is like the blackberry, which seemeth red, when it is not ripe resembling pretious stones that are polished with honney, which the smother they look, the sooner they breake. It is thought wonderful among the sea men that Mugil of all fishes the swifteste is found in the belly of the Bret of all the slowest; And shal it not seeme monstrous to wise men, that the hearte of the greatest conquerour of the worlde, should be found in the handes of the weakest creature of nature? of a woman? of a captiue? Hermyns haue faire skinnes, but fowle liuers; Sepulcher's fresh colours but rotten bones, women faire faces, but false heartes. Remember Alexander thou haste a campe to gouerne, not a chamber, fall not from the armour of Mars to the armes of Venus, frō the fiery assaults of warre, to the maidenly skirmishes of loue from displaying the Eagle in thine ensigne, to sette downe the sparrow. I sigh Alexander that where fortune could not counquer, folly should ouercome. But behold al the perfection that may be in Campaspe, a haire curling by nature, not arte: sweete alluring eies, a faire face made in despite of Venus; and a stately porte in disdaine of ia •• , a witte apt to conceaue, and quick to aunswere a skin as softe as silke, and as smooth as iet, a long white hand, a fine little foote, to conclude, all partes aunswerable to the best part, what of this? Though she haue heauenlye gifts, vertue and bewtie, is she not of earthly mettal flesh and bloud? You Alexander that would be a God, shewe your self in this worse then a man, so soone to bee both ouerseene and ouertaken in a woman, whose false teares know their true times, whose smooth wordes wounde deeper then sharpeswordes. There is no surfeit so dangerous, as that of honeye, nor any poyson so deadly, as that of loue, in the one phisicke cannot preuaile, nor in the other counsel.

My case were light Hephestion, and notworthy to be called loue, if reason were a remedie, or sentē ses could salue, that sense cannot conceaue, Litle do you know, and therefore sleightly doe you regard the dead embers in a priuate perso, or liue coles in a great prince, whose passions and thoughts do as farre exceede others in extremitie, as their callinges doe in Maiestie. An Eclipse in the Sunne is more then the fallinge of a starre, none can conceiue the tormentes of a king, vnlesse hee be a king; whose desires are not inferiour to their dignities. And then iudge Hephestion if the agonies of loue be dangerous in a subiect, whether they be not more then deadly vnto Alexander, whose deep and not to be conceiued sighes, cleaue the heart in shiuers, whose wounded thoughtes can neither be expressed nor endured. Cease then Hephestion with argumentes to seeke to refel that, which with their deitie the Gods cannot resist, and let this suffice to aunswere thee, that it is a king that loueth and Alexander, whose affections are not to be measured by reason, being immortall, nor I feare me to bee borne being intollerable.

I must needes yeeld, when neither reason nor counsel can be heard.

Yeelde Hephestion, for Alexander doth loue, & therefore must obtaine.

Suppose she loues not you, affection cōmeth not by appointmente or birth, and then as good hated as enforced.

I am a king, and wil commaund.

You may, to yeelde to luste by force, but to consent to loue by feare you cannot.

Why, what is that, which Alexander maye not conquer as he list?

Why, that which you say the Gods cannot resiste, Loue.

I am a conquerour, shee a captiue, I as fortunate, as she faire: my greatnes may answere her wants, and the giftes of my minde, the modestie of hers: Is it not likely then that shee should loue? Is it not reasonable?

You say that in loue there is no reason, and therefore there can be no likelyhood.

No more Hephestion: in this case I wil vse mine owne counsell, and in all other thine aduice, thou mayst be a good soldier, but neuer good louer. Call my page. Sirha, goe presentlye to Apelles, and will him to come to me without either delay or excuse.

I goe.

In the meane season to recreate my spirits, being so neere, we will goe see Diogenes. And see where his tub is, Diogenes.

Who calleth?

Alexander: how happened it that you woulde not come out of your tub to my pallace?

Because it was as far from my tub to your pallace, as from your pallace to my tub.

Why then doest thou ow no reuerēce to kings?

No.

Why so?

Because they be no Gods.

They be Gods of the earth.

Yea, Gods of earth.

Plato is not of thy mind.

I am glad of it.

Why?

Because I would haue none of Diogenes minde, but Diogenes

If Alexander haue any thing that may pleasure Diogenes, let me know, and take it.

Then take not from me, that you cannot giue me, the light of the world.

What dost thou want?

Nothing that you haue.

I haue the world at commaund.

And I in contempt.

Thou shalt liue no longer then I will.

But I shall die whether you wil or no.

How should one learne to be content?

Vnlearne to couet.

Hephestion, were I not Alexander, I would wishe to be Diogenes.

He is dogged, but discrete, I cannot tell how sharpe with a kinde of sweetenes, full of wit, yet too to wayward.

Diogenes, when I come this way again, I wil both see thee, and confer with thee.

Doe.

But here commeth Apelles, how now Apelles, is Venus face yet finished?

Not yet: Bewtie is not so soone shadowed, whose perfection commeth not within the compasse either of cunning or of colour.

Wel let it rest vnperfect, & come you with mee, where I will shewe you that finished by nature, that you haue beene trifling about by arte.

Lady, I doubt whether there bee any colour so fresh, that may shadow a countenance so faire.

Sir, I had thought you had beene commaunded to paint with your hand, not to glose with your tongue, but as I haue heard, it is the hardest thing in painting to set down a hard fauour, which maketh you to dispair of my face, and then shal you haue as great thanks to spare your labour, as to discredit your arte.

Mistresse, you neither differ from your selfe nor your sex: for knowing your own perfectiō, you seeme to dispraise that which men moste commend, drawing thē by that meane into an admiration, where feedinge themselues they fal into an extasie, your modestie being the cause of the one, and of the other, your affections.

I am too young to vnderstande your speache, thogh old enough to withstād your deuise: you haue bin so long vsed to colours, you can do nothing but colour.

Indeed the colours I see, I feare, wil altar the colour I haue: but come Madam, wil you draw neere: for Alexander will be here anon. Psyllus, stay you heere at the window, if anye enquire for me, aunswere, Nonlubet esse domi.

It is alwaies my maisters fashion, when any fair gentlewoman is to be drawne within, to make mee to stay without. But if he shuld paint Iupiter like a Bul, like a Swanne like an Eagle, then must Psyllus with one hand grinde colours, and with the other hold the candle. But let him alone, the better he shadowes her face, the more will he burne his own heart. And now if a manne coulde meere with Manes, who I dare say, lookes as leane, as if Diogenes dropped out of his nose.

And heere comes Manes, whoe hath as muche meate in his maw, as thou hast honestie in thy head.

Then I hope thou art very hungry.

They that know thee, know that.

But doest thou not remember that wee haue certeine licour to conferre withal.

I, but I haue busines, I must go cry a thing.

Why, what hast thou lost?

That which I neuer had, my dinner?

Foule lubber wilt thou crie for thy dinner?

I meane, I must cry, not as one wold saye cry, but cry, that is, make a noyse.

Why foole, that is all one, for if thou cry, thou must needes make a noise.

Boy, thou art deceiued Cry hath diuerse significations, and may bee alluded to manye thinges, knaue but one, and can be applyed but to thee.

Profound Manes.

Wee Cynickes are madde fellowes, didste thou not finde I did quip thee?

No verely, why, whats a quip?

We great girders call it a short saying of a sharp witte, with a bitter sense in a sweete word.

How canst thou thus diuine, deuide, define, dispute, and all on the sodaine?

Wit wil haue his swing, I am bewitcht, inspirde, inflamed, infected.

Well, then will not I tempt thy gybing spirite.

Do not Psyllus, for thy dull head will bee but a grindstone for my quick wit, which if thou whet with ouertwhartes, peristi, actum est de te. I haue drawne bloud at ones braines with a bitter bob.

Let me crosse my self: for I die, if I crosse thee.

Let me do my busines, I my self am afraid, least my wit should waxe warm, and then must it needes consume some hard head with fine & prety iests. I am sometimes in such a vaine, that for want of some dull pate to worke on, I begin to gird my selfe.

The Gods shield mee from such a fine fellowe, whose words melt wits like waxe.

Well then, let vs to the matter. In fayth my maister meaneth tomorow to flye.

It is a iest.

Is it a iest to flye? shouldest thou flye so soone, thou shouldest repent it in earnest.

Well, I will be the cryer.

O ys, o ys, o ys, All manner of men, women, or children, that wil come to morow into the market place, betweene the houres of nine and ten, shall see Diogenes the Cynick fly.

I do not think he wil flye.

Tush, say fly.

Fly.

Now let vs goe: for I wil not see him againe, till midnight, I haue a back way into his tub.

I meane to come in at his back.

Well, let vs goe away, that we may returne speedely.

I shall neuer drawe your eies well, because they blind mine.

Why thē, paint me without eies, for I am blind?

Were you euer shadowed before of any?

No. And would you could so nowe shadow me, that I might not be perceiued of any.

It were pittie, but that so absolute a face should furnish Venus temple amongst these pictures.

What are these pictures?

This is Laeda, whom Ioue deceiued in likenes of a swan.

A faire woman, but a foule deceit.

This is Alcmena, vnto whō Iupiter came in shape of Amphitriō her husband, and begate Hercules.

A famous sonne, but an infamous fact.

He might do it, because he was a God.

Nay, therefore it was euil done, because he was a God.

This is Danae, into whose prison Iupiter drisled a golden shewre, and obtained his desire.

What gold can make one yeelde to desire?

This is Europa, whom Iupiter rauished, this Antiopa.

Were al the Gods like this Iupiter?

There were many Gods in this like Iupiter.

I thinke in those daies loue was well ratified among men on earth, when lust was so full autorised by the Gods in heauen.

Nay, you may imagine there were womē passing amiable, whēther were Gods exceding amorous.

Were women neuer so faire, men would be false.

Were women neuer so false, men wold be fond.

What counterfeit is this Apelles?

This is Venus, the Goddesse of loue.

What, be there also louing Goddesses?

This is she that hath power to commaunde the very affections of the heart.

How is she hired, by praier, by sacrifice, or bribs?

By praier, sacrifice and bribes.

What praier?

Vowes irreuocable.

What sacrifice?

Hearts euer sighing, neuer dissembling.

What bribes?

Roses and kisses? but were you neuer in loue?

No, nor loue in me.

Then haue you iniuried many.

How so?

Because you haue beene loued of many.

Flattered perchance of some.

Is it not possible that a face so faire, and a wit so sharp, both without comparison, shulde not bee apte to loue.

If you begin to tip your tong with cunninge, I pray dip your pensil in colours, and fall to that you must doe, not that you would doe.

Parmenio I cannot tell howe it cōmeth to passe, that in Alexander now a daies there groweth an vnpaciēt kinde of life, in the morning he is melācholye, at noone solomne, at all times either more sower or seuere, then he was accustomed.

In kinges causes I rather loue to doubte then coniecture and thinke it better to be ignoraunt then inquisitiue: they haue long eares and stretched armes, in whose heades suspition is a proofe, and to bee accused is to be condemned.

Yet betweene vs there canne be no daunger to finde out the cause: for that there is no malice to withstand it. It may be an vnquenchable thirste of conquering maketh him vnquiet: it is not vnlikely his long ease hath altred his humour: that hee shoulde be in loue, it is not impossible.

In loue Clytus, no, no, it is as farre from his thought, as treason in ours: hee, whose euer waking eye, whose neuer tired heart, whose body pacient of labour, whose mind vnsatiable of victorie hath alwaies bin noted, cannot so soone be melted into the weake conceites of loue: Aristotle told him there were many worlds, and that he hath not conquered one that gapeth for all, galleth Alexander. But here he commeth.

Parmenio, and Clitus, I would haue you both redy to goe into Persia about an ambassage no lesse profitable to me, then to your selues honourable.

We are ready at all commaundes, wishing nothing els, but continually to be commaunded.

Well, then withdraw your selues, till I haue further considered of this matter.

Now we will see how Apelles goeth forward: I doubt me that nature hath ouercom arte, and her countenāce his cunning.

You loue, and therefore think any thing.

But not so farre in loue with Campaspe, as with B • cephalus, if occasion serue either of conflicte or of conquest.

I confesse the labours fit for Alexander, and yet recreation necessary among so manye assaultes, bloudie woundes, intollerable troubles: giue mee leaue a litle, if not to sitte, yet to breath. And doubt not but Alexander can when he wil throw affections as farre from him, as he can cowardise. But behold Diogenes talking with one at his tub.

One pennie Diogenes, I am a Cynick.

He made thee a begger, that first gaue thee any thing.

Why, if thou wilte giue nothinge, no bodye wil giue thee.

I want nothing, till the springs dry, & the earth perish.

I gather for the Gods.

And I care not for those gods, which want money.

Thou art a right Cynicke, that wyll gyue nothing.

Thou art not, that wil beg anything.

Alexander, kinge Alexander, giue a poore Cynick a groat.

It is not for a king to giue a groat.

Then giue me a talent.

It is not for a begger to aske a talent. Awaye. Apelles?

Here.

Now Gentlewomanne, doth not your bewtie put the painter to his trump?

Yes my lord, seeing so disordered a countenāce, he feareth he shall, shadow a deformed counterfeit.

Would he could colour the life with the feature. And me thinketh Apelles, were you as cunning as report saith you are, you may paint flowers aswell with sweete sinels, as fresh colours, obseruing in your mixture suche things as should draw neere to their sauours.

Your maiestie must know, it is no lesse harde to paint sauours then vertues, colours can neither speake nor think.

Where do you first begin, when you draw anye picture?

The proportion of the face in iust compasse, as I can.

I would begin with the eie, as a light to all the rest.

If you wil paint, as you are a king, your Maiesty, maye beginne wher you please, but as you wold be a painter, you must begin with the face.

Aurelius would in one houre colour foure faces.

I meruaile in half an houre he did not foure.

Why, is it so easie?

No, but he doth it so homely.

When wil you finish Campaspe?

Neuer finishe: for alwaies in absolute bewtie there is somwhat aboue arte.

Why shoulde not I by labour bee as cunning as Apelles?

God shield you should haue cause to be so cunning as Apelles.

Me thinketh four colours are sufficiēt to shadow any countenance, & so it was in the time of Phy • ias.

Then had men fewer fancies, & womē not so many fauors. For now, if the haire of her eie browes be black, yet must the heare of her head be yellowe: the attire of her head must be different from the habite of her body, els would the picture seeme like the blason of auncient Armorie, not like the sweete delight of new found amiablenes. For as in garden knottes diuersitie of odours make a more sweete sauour, or as in musicke diuers stringes cause a more delicate consent, so in painting, the more colours, the better counterfeit, obseruing blacke for a ground, and the rest for grace.

Lend me thy pensil Apelles, I wil paint, and thou shalt iudge.

Here.

The coale breakes.

You leane too hard.

Now it blackes not.

You leane too soft.

This is awry.

Your eie goeth not with your hand.

Now it is worse.

Your hand goeth not with your minde.

Nay, if all be too hard or soft, so many rules and regardes, that ones hand ones eie, ones mind muste all draw together, I had rather be setting of a battell, then blotting of a bourd. But how haue I done here?

Like a king.

I think so: but nothing more vnlike a Paynter. Wel Apelles, Campaspe is finished as I wish, dismisse her, & bring presently her counterfeit after me.

I wil.

Now Hephestion, doth not this matter cotton as I would, Campaspe looketh pleasantly, liberty wil encrease her bewtie, and my loue shal aduaunce her honour.

I wil not contrary your maiestie, for time must weare out that loue hath wroughte, and reason weane what appetite noursed.

How stately she passeth bye, yet howe soberlie, a sweete consent in her countenance with a chast disdain, desire mingled with coynesse, and I cannot tell howe to tearme it, a curst yeelding modestie.

Let her passe.

So shee shall for the fairest on the earth.

I shalbe hanged for tarying so long.

I pray God my maister bee not flowne before I come.

Away Manes, my maister doth come.

Where haue you bin all this while?

No where but heere.

Who was here sithence my comming?

No body.

Vngratious wag, I perceiue you haue beene a loytering, was Alexander no body?

He was a king, I meant no meane body.

I wyll cogell your bodye for it, and then wyll I saye it was no bodye, because it was no honest body. Away in.

Vnfortunate Apelles, and therefore vnfortunate, beecause Apelles. Haft thou by drawing her bewtie brought to passe, y• thou canst scarse draw thine own breath? And by so muche the more hast thou encreased thy care, by how much the more thou hast shewed thy cūning: was it not sufficient to behold the fire, and warme thee, but with Satyrus thou must kisse the fire and burne thee? O Campaspe, Campaspe, arte must yeelde to nature, reason to appetite, wisdom to affection, Could Pigmalion entreate by prayer to haue his Iuory turned into flesh? and cannot Apelles obtaine by plaints to haue the picture of his loue chaunged to life? Is painting so farre inferiour to caruing? or doest thou Venus more delight to be hewed with Chizels, then shadowed with colours? what Pigmadion, or what Pyrgoteles, or what Lysippus is hee, that euer made thy face so faire, or spread thy fame so farre as I? vnlesse Venus, in this thou enuiest mine arte, that in colouring my sweete Campaspe, I haue left no place by cunning to make thee so amiable. But alas, shee is the paramour to a prince. Alexander the Monarch of the • arth hath both her body and affection. For what is it that kinges cannot obtaine by prayers, threates and promises? Will not she think it better to sit vnder a cloth of estate like a queene, thē in a poore shoppe like a huswife? and esteeme it sweeter to be the concubine of the Lord of the world, then spouse to a painter in Athens? Yes, yes Apelles, thou maist smimme against the streame with the Crab, and feede againste the winde with the deere, and pecke against the steele with the Cockatrice: starres are to be looked at, not reached at. Princes to be yelded vnto, not contended with, Campaspe to bee honoured, not obteined, to be painted, not possessed of thee: O fair face, O vnhappy hand, & why didst thou draw it so faire a face? O bewtifull countenaunce, the expresse image of Venus, but sōwhat fresher: the only pattern of that eternitie which Iupiter dreaming of asleep, could not cōceiue agayne waking. Blush Venus, for I am ashamed to end thee. Now must I paint things vnpossible for mine arte, but agreeable with my affections: deepe and hollowe sighes, sadde and melancholye thoughtes, woundes and slaughters of conceites, a life posting to death, a death galloping from life, a wauering constancie, an vnsetled resolution, and what not, Apelles? And what but Apelles? But as they that are shaken with a feuer are to bee warmed with clothes, not groanes, and as he that melteth in a consumptiō is to be recured by Colices, not conceits: so the feeding canker of my care, the neuer dying worm of my heart, is to be killed by counsel, not cries, by applying of remedies, not by replying of reasons. And sith in cases desperat there must be vsed medicines yt are extreame, I will hazard that litle life that is left, to restore the greater part that is lost, and this shalbe my first practise: for wit must worke, where authoritie is not. Assoone as Alexander hath viewed this portraiture, I will by deuise giue it a blemishe, that by that meanes shee maye come againe to my shop, and then as good it were to vtter my loue, and die with deniall, as conceale it and liue in despaire.

This is the place, the day, the time, that Diogenes hath appointed to flye.

I wil not loose the flight of so fair a foule as Diogenes is, though my maister cogel my no bodye, as he threatned.

What Psyllus, will the beaste wag his winges to day?

We shal heare: for here commeth Manes: Manes will it be?

Be, he were best be as cunning as a Bee, 'or else shortly he will not be at all.

How is he furnished to flye, hath he feathers?

Thou art an asse, Capons, Geese and Owles haue feathers. He hath found Dedalus old waxen wings, and hath beene peecing them this moneth, he is so broad in the shoulders. O you shal see him cut the aire euen like a Tortoys.

Why, he hath eatē nothing this seuennight but corke and feathers.

Tutch him Manes.

He is so light that he can scarse keepe him from flying at midnight.

See they beginne to flocke, and behold my maister bustels himself to flye.

Yee wicked and bewitched Athenians, whose bodies make the earth to groane, and whose breathes infect the aire with stench. Come ye to see Diogenes flye? Diogenes commeth to see you sinke: yee call me dog, so I am, for I long to gnawe the boanes in your skins. Yee tearme mean hater of menne: no, I am a hater of your māers. Your liues dissolute, not fearing death, wil proue your deaths desperate, not hoping for life. What do you els in Athens but sleepe in the daye, and surfeite in the night: back Gods in the morning with pride, in the euening belly Gods with gluttony. You flatter kings, & call them Gods, speak trueth of your selues, and cōfesse you are deuils. From the Bee you haue takē not the honey, but the wax to make your religion, framing it to the time, not to the trueth. Your filthy lust you colour vnder a courtly colour of loue, iniuries abroad vnder the title of pollicies at home, & secrete malice creepeth vnder the name of publike iustice. You haue caused Alexander to dry vp springs and plant vines, to sow roket and weede endisse, to sheare sheepe, and shrine foxes. All conscience is sealed at Athens. Swearing commeth of a hot mettle: lying of a quick wit: flattery of a flowing tong, vndecent talk of a mery disposition. Al things are lawful at Athēs. Either you think there are no Gods, or I must think yee are no men. You build as though you shoulde liue for euer, and surfeit as though you should die tomorow. None teacheth true Phylosophy but Aristotle, beecause he was the kinges schoolemaister. O times, O menne, O corruption in manners. Remember that greene grasse must turne to dry hay. When you sleep, you are not sure to wake, and when you rise not certeine to lye downe. Looke you neuer so hye, your heads must lye leuel with your feet. Thus haue I flown ouer your disordered liues, and if you will not amende your manners, I will studie to flye further from you, that I may be neerer to honestie.

Thou rauest Diogenes, for thy life is different frō thy woordes. Did not, I see thee come out of a brothel house? was it not a shame?

It was no shame to goe out, but a shame to goe in.

It were a good deede Manes, to beate thy maister.

You were as good eate my maister.

Hast thou made vs all fooles, and wile thou not flye?

I tell thee, vnlesse thou be honest, I wil fly.

Dog, dog, take a boane.

Thy father neede fear no dogs, but dogs thy father.

We wil tel Alexander, that thou reproouest him behind his back.

And I wil tell him, that you flatter him beefore his face.

We wil cause all the boies in the streete to hisse at thee.

In deede I think the Athenians haue their childrē redy for any vice, because they be Atheniās.

Why maister, meane you not to flye?

No Manes, not without wings.

Euery body wil account you alyar.

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

Nor I.

Come, let vs goe, and hereafter when I meane to raise vpon any body openly, it shall be giuen out, I will flye.

Campaspe, it is hard to iudge whether thy choice be more vnwise, or thy chaunce vnfortunate. Doest thou preferre, but stay, vtter not that in woords, which maketh thine eares to glow with thoughtes. Tus • better thy tongue wagge, then thy heart breake. Hath a painter crept further into thy mind then a prince? Apelles then Alexander? Fond wench, the basenes of thy mind bewraies the meannesse of thy birth. But alas, affection is a fire, which kindleth aswell in the bramble as in the oak, and catcheth hold where it first lighteth, not where it may best burne, Larkes that mount aloft in the ayre, build their neastes below in the earth, and women that cast their eies vpon kinges, may place their hearts vpon vassals. A needle will become thy fingers better then a lute, and a distasfe is fitter for thy hand then a scepter. Auntes liue safely, till they haue gotten winges, and Iuniper is not blowne vp, till it hath gotten an high top. The mean estate is without care as long as it continueth without pride. But here commeth Apelles, in whom I would there were the like affection.

Gentlewoman, the misfortune I had with your picture, will put you to some paines, to sitte againe to be painted.

No Madame, to painte Venus was a pleasure, but to shadowe the sweet face of Campaspe it is a heauen.

If your tongue were made of the same flesh that your heart is, your wordes woulde be as your thoughts are: but such a common thing it is amongst you to commend, that oftentimes for fashion sake you call thē bewtifull, whom you know blacke.

What might men doe to be beleeued?

Whet their tongues on their hearts.

So they doe, and speake as they think.

I would they did.

I would they did not.

Why, would you haue them dissemble?

Not in loue, but theyr loue. But will you giue me leaue to ask you a question without offēce?

So that you will aunswere me an other without excuse.

Whom do you loue best in the world?

He that made me last in the world.

That was a God.

I had thought it had beene a man: but whome do you honour most Apelles?

The thing that is likest you Campaspe.

My picture?

I dare not venture vpon your person. But come, let vs go in: for Alexander will thinke it longe till we returne.

We heare nothing of our Embassage, a colour belike to bleare our eies, or ticle our eares, or inflame our heartes. But what doth Alexander in the meane season, but vse sor Tantara, Sol. Fa. La. for his harde couch, downe beddes, for his handfull of water, his standinge Cup of wine?

Clytus, I mislike this new delicacie and pleasing peace: for what els do we see now then a kind of softnes in euery mans minde, Bees to make their hiues in soldiers helmets, our steedes furnished with foote clothes of golde, insteede of saddles of steele: More time to bee required to scowre the rust of our weapons, thē there was woont to be in subdewing the countries of our enemies. Sithence Alexander fell from his harde armour to his softe robes, beholde the face of his court, youthes that were woont to carry deuises of victory in their shieldes, engraue now posies of loue in their ringes: they that were accustomed on trotting horses to ch •• ge the enemie with a launce, now in easie coch •• •• de vp & downe to court Ladies: in steede of sworde and target to hazard their liues, vse penne and paper to paint their loues. Yea, such a feare and faintnes is growne in courte, that they wish rather to heare the blowing of a horne to hunt, thē the sound of a trumpet to fight? O Phillip, wert thou aliue to see this alteration, thy men turned to women, thy soldiers to louers, gloues worne in veluet, caps in steede of plumes in grauen helmets, thou wouldest either dye among them for sorow, or confound them for anger.

Cease Permenio, least in speaking what becommeth thee not, thou feele what liketh thee not: trueth is neuer without a scratcht face, whose tongue although it cannot be cut out, yet must it be tied vp.

It greeueth me not a litle for Hephestion, whoe thristeth for honour, not ease, but such is his fortune & neerenesse in friendship to Alexander, that he must lay a pillowe vnder his head, when he would put a targette in his hand.

But let vs draw in, to see how well it beecomes them to tread the measures in a daunce, that were wont to set the order for a march.

I haue now Campaspe almost made an end.

You told me Apelles, you would neuer end.

Neuer end my loue: for it shal be eternal.

That is, neither to haue beginning nor ending.

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

What will you saye, if Alexander perceiue your loue?

I will say, it is no treason to loue.

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

Then will I gase continually on thy picture.

That will not feede thy heart.

Yet shall it fill mine eie: beesides the sweete thoughtes, the sure hopes, thy protested faith, will cause me to embrace thy shadow continuallye in mine armes, of the which by stronge imagination I will make a substaunce.

Wel, I must be gon: but this assure your self, that I had rather be in thy shop grinding colours, then in Alexanders court, following higher fortunes.

Foolish wench, what hast thou done? that alas which cannot be vndone, and therefore I feare me vndone. But content is such a life, I care not for aboundance. O Apelles, thy loue commeth from the hearte, but Alexanders from the mouth. The loue of Kynges is lyke the blowinge of windes, whiche whistle sometimes gently amonge the leaues, and straight waies turne the trees vp by the rootes, or fire which warmeth a farre off, and burneth neere hand, or the sea, which maketh men hoyse their sayles in a flattering calme, and to cut their mastes in a rough storme. They place affection by times, by pollicie, by appointment, if they frowne, who dares call them vnconstant, if bewray secretes, who wil tearme them vntrue, if fall to other loues, who trembles not, if he call them vnfaithfull. In kinges there can be no loue, but to Queenes: for as neere must they meete in maiestie, as they doe in affection. It is requisite to stande aloofe from kings loue, loue, and lightening.

Now Apelles, gather thy wittes together: Campaspe is no lesse wise then faire, thy selfe must be no lesse cunning then faithfull. It is no small matter to be riuall with Alexander.

Apelles, you must come away quicklye with the picture, the king thinketh that nowe you haue painted it, you play with it.

If I would playe with pictures, I haue enough at home.

None perhaps you like so well.

It may be I haue painted none so well.

I haue knowne many fairer faces.

And I many better boies.