Part 36

_Apel._ I will cudgell your bodie for it, and then will I say it was no bodie, because it was no honest bodie. Away, in! _Exit Psyllus._ Unfortunate Apelles, and therefore unfortunate because Apelles! Hast thou by drawing her beautie brought to passe that thou canst scarce draw thine owne breath? And by so much the more hast thou increased thy care by how much the more hast 15 thou[901] shewed thy cunning? 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! Art must yeeld to nature, reason to appetite, wisdome to affection! Could Pigmalion entreate by prayer to have his ivory turned into flesh, and cannot 20 Apelles obtaine by plaints to have the picture of his love changed to life? Is painting so farre inferiour to carving? Or dost thou, Venus, more delight to bee hewed with chizels then shadowed with colours? What Pigmalion, or what Pyrgoteles, or what Lysippus is hee,[902] that ever made thy face so faire or spread thy fame 25 so farre as I? Unlesse, Venus, in this thou enviest mine art, that in colouring my sweet Campaspe I have left no place by cunning to make thee so amiable.[903] But, alas, shee 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 obtaine by prayers, 30 threats, and promises? Will not shee thinke it better to sit under a cloth of estate[904] like a queene than in a poore shop like a huswife, and esteeme it sweeter to be the concubine of the lord of the world than spouse to a painter in Athens? Yes, yes, Apelles, thou maist swimme against the streame with the crab, and feede 35 against the winde with the deere, and peck against the steele with the cockatrice:[905] starres are to be looked at, not reached at; princes to be yeelded unto, not contended with; Campaspe to be honoured, not obtained; to be painted, not possessed of thee. O faire face! O unhappy hand! And why didst thou drawe it--so 40 faire a face? O beautifull countenance, the expres image of Venus, but somwhat fresher, the only patterne of that eternitie which Jupiter dreaming, asleepe, could not conceive againe waking! Blush, Venus, for I am ashamed to ende thee! Now must I paint things unpossible for mine art but agreeable with my affections,--deepe 45 and hollow sighes, sad and melancholie thoughtes, woundes and slaughters of conceits, a life posting to death, a death galloping from life, a wavering constancie, an unsetled resolution, and what not, Apelles? And what but Apelles?[906] But as they that are shaken with a feaver are to be warmed with cloathes, not 50 groanes, and as he that melteth in a consumption is to be recured by colices,[907] not conceits, so the feeding canker of my care, the never-dying worme of my heart, is to be killed by counsell, not cries, by applying of remedies, not by replying of reasons. And sith in cases desperate there must be used medicines that are extreame, I will hazard that little life that is left, to 55 restore the greater part that is lost; and this shall be my first practise,--for wit must worke where authoritie is not,--as soone as Alexander hath viewed this portraiture, I will by devise give it a blemish, that by that meanes she may come againe to my shop; and then as good it were to utter my love and die with deniall as 60 conceale it and live in dispaire.

SONG BY APELLES.

Cupid and my Campaspe playd At cardes for kisses; Cupid payd. He stakes his quiver, bow, and arrows, 65 His mothers doves, and teeme of sparows; Looses them, too. Then, downe he throwes The corrall of his lippe, the rose Growing on's cheek,--but none knows how,-- With these, the cristall of his brow, 70 And then the dimple of his chinne; All these did my Campaspe winne. At last, hee set her both his eyes; Shee won, and Cupid blind did rise. O love! has shee done this to thee? 75 What shall, alas, become of mee? [_Exit Apelles._]

Actus quartus. Scæna prima.[908]

[_Enter_] SOLINUS, PSYLLUS, [_and_] GRANICHUS.[909]

_Sol._ This is the place, the day, the time, that Diogenes hath appointed to flie.

_Psyllus._ I will not loose the flight of so faire a foule as Diogenes is though my master cudgell my no body as he threatned.

_Gran._ What, Psyllus, will the beast wag his wings to day? 5 [_Enter Manes._]

_Psyllus._ Wee shall heare; for here commeth Manes. Manes, will it be?

_Manes._ Be? He were best be as cunning as a bee, or else shortly he will not bee at all.

_Gran._ How is hee furnished to flie? Hath he feathers? 10

_Manes._ Thou art an asse! Capons, geese, and owles, have feathers. He hath found Dedalus old waxen wings,[910] and hath beene peecing them this moneth, he is so broad in the shoulders. O, you shall see him cut the ayre even like a tortoys!

_Sol._ Me thinkes so wise a man should not bee so mad; his body 15 must needs be too heavie.

_Manes._ Why, hee hath eaten nothing this seven night but corke and feathers.

_Psyllus_ [_aside_]. Touch him,[911] Manes.

_Manes._ Hee is so light that hee can scarce keepe him from flying 20 at midnight. _Populus intrat._

_Manes._ See they begin to flocke, and, behold, my master bustels himselfe to flie. [_They draw nearer the tub._]

_Diog._[912] You wicked and bewitched Athenians, whose bodies make the earth to groane, and whose breathes infect the ayre with stench, come ye to see Diogenes flie? Diogenes commeth 25 to see you sinke. Yea,[913] call me dogge! So I am, for I long to gnaw the bons in your skins. Yee tearme me an hater of men! No, I am a hater of your manners. Your lives, dissolute, not fearing death, will prove your deaths desperat, not hoping for life. What do you else in Athens but sleepe in the day and 30 surfeit in the night,--backe-gods in the morning with pride, in the evening belly-gods with gluttony! You flatter kings, and call them gods. Speak truth of your selves and confesse you are divels! From the bee you have taken, not the honey, but the wax, to make your religion, framing it to the time, not to the truth. Your 35 filthy lust you colour under a courtly colour of love, injuries abroad under the title of policies at home; and secret malice creepeth under the name of publike justice. You have caused Alexander to drie up springs and plant vines, to sow rocket and weed endiff,[914] to sheare sheepe, and shrine[915] foxes. All conscience is sealed[916] at Athens: swearing commeth of a 40 hot mettle; lying of a quick wit; flattery of a flowing tongue; undecent talke of a merry disposition. All things are lawfull 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 morrowe. None teacheth true philosophie 45 but Aristotle, because hee was the kings schoole-master! O times! O men! O corruption in manners! Remember that greene grasse must turne to drie hay. When you sleepe, you are not sure to wake; and when you rise, not certaine to lie downe. Looke you never so 50 high, your heads must lie level with your feet. Thus have I flowne over[917] your disordered lives; and if you will not amend your manners, I will studie to flie further from you, that I may bee neerer to honestie.[918]

_Sol._ Thou ravest, Diogenes, for thy life is different from thy 55 words. Did not I see thee come out of a brothell house? Was it not a shame?

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

_Gran._ It were a good deede, Manes, to beate thy master.

_Manes._ You were as good eate my master. 60

_One of the People._ Hast thou made us all fooles, and wilt thou not flie?

_Diog._ I tell thee, unlesse thou be honest, I will flie.[919]

_People._ Dog, dog, take a bone!

_Diog._ Thy father need feare no dogs, but dogs thy father.[920] 65

_People._ We will tell Alexander that thou reprovest him behinde his back.

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

_People._ Wee will cause all the boyes in the streete to hisse at thee.

_Diog._ Indeede, I thinke the Athenians have their children readie 70 for any vice, because they bee Athenians. [_Exeunt Populus and Solinus._]

_Manes._ Why, master, meane you not to flie?

_Diog._ No, Manes, not without wings.

_Manes._ Everybody will account you a lyar.

_Diog._ No, I warrant you, for I will alwayes say the Athenians 75 are mischevous.

_Psyllus._ I care not; it was sport enough for mee to see these old huddles[921] hit home.

_Gran._ Nor I.

_Psyllus._ Come, let us goe; and hereafter when I meane to rayle 80 upon any body openly, it shall bee given out, I will flie. _Exeunt._

Actus quartus. Scæna secunda.[922]

[_Enter_] CAMPASPE.[923]

_Camp. sola._ Campaspe, it is hard to judge whether thy choyce be more unwise or thy chance unfortunate. Doest thou preferre--but stay, utter not that in wordes which maketh thine eares to glow with thoughts. Tush, better thy tongue wagge than thy heart breake! Hath a painter crept further into thy minde than a 5 prince;--Apelles, than Alexander? Fond wench, the basenes of thy minde bewraies the meannesse of thy birth. But, alas, affection is a fire which kindleth as well[924] in the bramble as in the oake, and catcheth hold where it first lighteth, not where it may best burne. Larkes, that mount aloft in the ayre, build their neasts 10 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 distaffe is fitter for thy hand than a scepter. Antes live safely till they have gotten wings, and juniper is not blowne up till it hath gotten an high top: the meane estate is without care as long as it continueth without pride. [_Enter 15 Apelles._] But here commeth Apelles, in whom I would there were the like affection.

_Apel._ Gentlewoman, the misfortune I had with your picture will put you to some paines to sit againe to be painted. 20

_Camp._ It is small paines for mee to sit still, but infinite for you to draw still.

_Apel._ No, madame; to painte Venus was a pleasure, but to shadow the sweete face of Campaspe, it is a heaven!

_Camp._ If your tongue were made of the same flesh that your 25 heart is, your words would bee as your thoughts are; but, such a common thing it is amongst you to commend that oftentimes for fashion sake you call them beautifull whom you know blacke.

_Apel._ What might men doe to be beleeved?

_Camp._ Whet their tongue on their hearts. 30

_Apel._ So they doe, and speake as they thinke.

_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.[925] But will you give mee 35 leave to aske you a question without offence?

_Camp._ So that you will answere mee another without excuse.

_Apel._ Whom doe you love best in the world?

_Camp._ He that made me last in the world.

_Apel._ That was a god. 40

_Camp._ I had thought it had beene a man. But whom doe 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 45 go in: for Alexander will thinke it long till we returne. _Exeunt._

Actus quartus. Scæna tertia.[926]

[_Enter_] CLYTUS [_and_] PARMENIO.

_Clytus._ We heare nothing of our embassage,--a colour[927] belike to bleare our eyes or tickle our eares or inflame our hearts. But what doth Alexander in the meane season but use for _tantara_,--_sol_, _fa_, _la_;[928] for his hard couch, downe beds; for his handfull of water, his standing-cup of wine?[929] 5

_Par._ Clytus, I mislike this new delicacie and pleasing peace, for what else do we see now than a kind of softnes in every mans minde: bees to make their hives in souldiers helmets;[930] our steeds furnished with footclothes of gold, insteede of sadles of steele; more time to be required to scowre the rust of our weapons than there 10 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 devises of victory in their shields engrave now posies of love in their ringes; they that were accustomed on trotting horses to charge the enemie with 15 a launce, now in easie coches ride up and down to court ladies; in steade of sword and target to hazard their lives, use pen and paper to paint their loves; yea, such a feare and faintnesse is growne in court that they wish rather to heare the blowing of a horne to hunt than the sound of a trumpet to fight. O Philip, wert thou alive to see this 20 alteration,--thy men turned to women, thy souldiers to lovers, gloves worne in velvet caps,[931] in stead of plumes in graven helmets,--thou wouldest either dye among them for sorrow or counfound[932] them for anger.

_Clytus._ Cease, Parmenio, least in speaking what becommeth thee 25 not, thou feele what liketh thee not: truth is never with out a scracht 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 neernesse in 30 friendship to Alexander that hee must lay a pillow under his head when hee 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 daunce[933] that were wont to set the order for a march. _Exeunt._

Actus quartus. Scæna quarta.[934]

[_Enter_] APELLES [_and_] CAMPASPE.

_Apel._ I have now, Campaspe, almost made an ende.

_Camp._ You told mee, Apelles, you would never end.

_Apel._ Never end my love, for it shal be[935] eternall.

_Camp._ That is, neither to have beginning nor ending.

_Apel._ You are disposed to mistake; I hope you do not mistrust. 5

_Camp._ What will you say, if Alexander perceive your love?

_Apel._ I will say it is no treason to love.

_Camp._ But how if hee will not suffer thee to see my person?

_Apel._ Then will I gaze continually on thy picture.

_Camp._ That will not feede thy heart. 10

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

_Camp._ Wel, I must be gone. But this assure your selfe, that I had rather be in thy shop grinding colours than in Alexander's 15 court following higher fortunes. [_As she crosses the stage_[936]] Foolish wench, what hast thou done? That, alas, which cannot be undone; and therefore I feare me undone. But content is such a life; I care not for aboundance. O Apelles, thy love commeth from the heart but Alexander's from the mouth! The love of kings is 20 like the blowing of winds, which whistle sometimes gently among the leaves and straight waies turne the trees up by the rootes; or fire, which warmeth afarre off, and burneth neere hand; or the sea, which maketh men hoise their sailes in a flattering calme, and to cut their mastes in a rough storme. They place affection 25 by times, by policy, by appoyntment. If they frowne, who dares call them unconstant; if bewray secrets, who will tearme them untrue; if fall to other loves, who trembles not, if hee call them unfaithfull? In kings there can bee no love but to queenes; for as neere must they meete in majestie as they doe in affection. It 30 is requisite to stand aloofe from kings love, Jove, and lightening. _Exit._

_Apel._[937] Now, Apelles, gather thy wits together. Campaspe is no lesse wise then faire; thy selfe must be no lesse cunning then faithfull.[938] It is no small matter to be rivall with Alexander. 35

[_Enter_ PAGE _of_ 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. 40

_Page._ I have knowen many fairer faces.

_Apel._ And I many better boyes. _Exeunt._

Actus quintus. Scæna prima.[939]

[_Enter_] SYLVIUS, PERIM, MILO, TRICO, [_and_] MANES. [DIOGENES _in his tub_.][940]

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

_Diog._ What can thy sonnes do?

_Syl._ You shall see their qualities. Dance, sirha! _Then Perim danceth._ How like you this? Doth he well?

_Diog._ The better, the worser.[941] 5

_Syl._ The musicke very good.

_Diog._ The musitions very bad, who onely study to have their strings in tune, never framing their manners to order.

_Syl._ Now shall you see the other. Tumble, sirha! _Milo tumbleth._ How like you this? Why do you laugh? 10

_Diog._ To see a wagge that was borne to breake his neck by destinie to practise it by art.

_Milo._ This dogge will bite me; I will not be with him.

_Diog._ Feare not boy; dogges eate no thistles.

_Perim._ I marvell what dogge thou art, if thou be a dogge. 15

_Diog._ When I am hungry, a mastife; and when my belly is full, a spannell.

_Syl._ Dost thou beleeve[942] that there are any gods, that thou art so dogged?

_Diog._ I must needs beleeve there are gods, for I thinke thee an 20 enemie to them.

_Syl._ Why so?

_Diog._ Because thou hast taught one of thy sonnes to rule his legges and not to follow learning, the other to bend his bodie every way and his minde no way. 25

_Perim._ Thou doest nothing but snarle and barke, like a dogge.

_Diog._ It is the next[943] way to drive away a theefe.

_Syl._ Now shall you heare the third, who sings like a nightingale.

_Diog._ I care not; for I have a nightingale to sing[944] her selfe.

_Syl._ Sing, sirha! 30

TRYCO _singeth_.

SONG.[945]

What[946] bird so sings yet so dos wayle? O 'tis the ravish'd[947] nightingale. "Jug, jug, jug, jug, tereu," shee cryes; And still her woes at midnight rise. Brave prick song,[948] who is't now we heare? 35 None but the larke so shrill and cleare. How at heavens gats[949] she claps her wings, The morne not waking till shee sings! Heark, heark, with what a pretty throat Poore Robin Red-breast tunes his note! 40 Heark how the jolly cuckoes sing "Cuckoe," to welcome in the spring; "Cuckoe," to welcome in the spring.

_Syl._ Loe, Diogenes! I am sure thou canst not doe so much.

_Diog._ But there is never a thrush but can. 45

_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 bee with him?

_Perim._ I, so he will teach me first to runne away. 50

_Diog._ Thou needest not be taught, thy legges are so nimble.

_Syl._ How sayest thou, Milo, wilt thou be with him?

_Diog._ Nay, hold your peace; hee shall not.

_Syl._ Why?

_Diog._ There is not roome enough for him and me to tumble both in 55 one tub.

_Syl._ Well, Diogenes, I perceive my sonnes brooke not thy manners.

_Diog._ I thought no lesse, when they knew my vertues.

_Syl._ Farewell, Diogenes; thou neededst not have scraped rootes, 60 if thou wouldst have followed Alexander.

_Diog._ Nor thou have followed Alexander, if thou hadst scraped rootes.[950] _Exeunt_ [_all except Diogenes._]

Actus quintus. Scæna secunda.[951]

[_Enter_ APELLES.[952]]

_Apel._ I feare mee, Apelles, that thine eyes have blabbed that which thy tongue durst not! What little regard hadst thou! Whilest Alexander viewed the counterfeit of Campaspe, thou stoodest gazing on her countenance. If he espie or but suspect, thou must needs twice perish,--with his hate and thine owne love. Thy pale lookes 5 when he blushed, thy sad countenance when he smiled, thy sighes when he questioned, may breed in him a jelousie, perchance a frenzie. O love! I never before knew what thou wert, and now hast thou made me that I know not what my selfe am! Onely this I know, that I must endure intolerable passions for unknowne pleasures. 10 Dispute not the cause, wretch, but yeeld to it; for better it is to melt with desire than wrastle with love. Cast thy selfe on thy carefull bed; be content to live unknown, and die unfound.[953] O Campaspe, I have painted thee in my heart! Painted? Nay, contrary to mine arte, imprinted; and that in such deepe characters that 15 nothing can rase it out, unlesse it rubbe my[954] heart out. _Exit._

Actus quintus. Scæna tertia.[955]

[_Enter_] MILECTUS, PHRYGIUS, [_and_] LAIS.[956] [DIOGENES _is in his tub_.]

_Mil._ It shall goe hard but this peace shall bring us some pleasure.

_Phry._ Downe with armes, and up with legges! This is a world for the nonce![957]

_Lais._ Sweet youths, if you knew[958] what it were to save your sweet blood, you would not so foolishly go about to spend it. 5 What delight can there be in gashing, to make foule scarres in faire faces, and crooked maimes in streight legges, as though men, being borne goodly by nature, would of purpose become deformed by folly,--and all, forsooth for a new-found tearme, called _valiant_, a word which breedeth more quarrels than the sense can commendation? 10

_Mil._ It is true, Lais, a feather-bed hath no fellow. Good drinke makes good blood, and shall pelting[959] words spill it?

_Phry._ I meane to enjoy the world, and to draw out my life at the wire-drawers; not to curtall it off at the cutlers. 15

_Lais._ You may talke of warre, speake bigge, conquer worlds with great words; but stay at home, where in steade of alarums you shall have dances, for hot battailes with fierce men, gentle skirmishes with faire women. These pewter coates[960] can never sit so well as satten doublets. Beleeve me, you cannot conceive the 20 pleasure of peace unlesse you despise the rudenes of warre.

_Mil._ It is so. But see Diogenes prying over his tub! Diogenes what sayest thou to such a morsell? [_Pointing to Lais._]

_Diog._ I say I would spit it out of my mouth, because it should not poyson my stomacke. 25

_Phry._ Thou speakest as thou art; it is noe meate for dogges.

_Diog._ I am a dogge, and philosophy rates[961] me from carrion.

_Lais._ Uncivil wretch, whose manners are answerable to thy calling, the time was thou wouldest have had my company, had it not beene, as thou saidst, too deare. 30