Actus primus, Scaena prima.

PArmenio, I cannot tel whether I should more commend in Alex­anders victories, courage, or cur­tesie, in the one being a resoluti­on without feare, in the other a liberalitie aboue custōe: Thebes is raysed, the people not racked, towers throwne down, bodies not thrust aside, a cōquest without conflict, and a cruell warre in a milde peace.

Clytus, it becommeth the sonne of Phillip to be none other then Alexander is: therefore seeing in the father a full perfection, who could haue doubted in the sonne an excellencie. For as the moone can borrow no­thing els of the sunne but light, so of a fire, in whome nothing but vertue was, what coulde the childe receiue but singuler? It is for Turkes to staine each other, not for Dyamordes, in the one to bee made a difference in goodnes, in the other no comparison.

You mistake mee Parmenio, if whilest I com­mend Alexander, you imagine I call Phillyp into questi­on, vnlesse happely you coniecture (which none of iudg­ment will conceiue) that because I like the fruit, there­fore I heaue at the tree, or coueting to kisse the childe, I therefore goe about to poyson the teat.

I but Clytus I perceiue you are borne in the East, and neuer laugh but at the sunne rising, which ar­gueth though a duetie where you ought, yet no great deuotion where you might.

We wil make no controuersie of that which there ought to be no question, onely this shal be the o­pinion [Page] of vs both, that none was worthy to be the fa­ther of Alexander but Phillip, nor any meete to bee the sonne of Phillip but Alexander.

Soft Clytus, behold the spoiles & prisoners, a pleasaunt sight to vs, because profit is ioyned with ho­nour, not much paineful to them, because their captiui­tie is eased by mercy.

Fortune, thou didst neuer yet deceiue vertue, because vertue neuer yet did trust fortune. Sworde and fire will neuer get spoile, where wisdome and fortitude beares sway. O Thebes, thy walles were raysed by the sweetenesse of the harpe, but rased by the shrilnes of the trumpet. Alexander had neuer come so neere the wals, had Epaminondas walkt about the walles, and yet might the Thebanes haue beene mery in their streetes, if he had beene to watch their towers. But destinie is seldome foreseene, neuer preuented. We are heere now captiues, whose neckes are yoaked by force, but whose hearts can not yeelde by death. Come Campaspe and the rest, let vs not be ashamed to cast our eies on him, on whome wee feared not to cast our dartes.

Madame, you neede not doubt, it is Alexan­der, that is, the conquerour.

Alexander hath ouercome, not conquered.

To bring al vnder his subiection is to cōquer.

He cannot subdue that which is diuine.

Thebes was not.

Vertue is.

Alexander as hee tendreth vertue, so hee will you, he drinketh not bloud, but thirsteth after honor, he is greedy of victory, but neuer satisfied with mercie. In fight terrible, as beecommeth a captaine, in conqueste milde, as beseemeth a king. In al things then which no­thing can be greater he is Alexander.

Then if it be such a thing to be Alexander, I hope it shalbe no miserable thing to be a virgin. For if [Page] he saue our honors, it is more thē; to restore our goodes. And rather doe I wishe hee preserue our fame then our lyues, which if he do, wee will confesse there can bee no greater thing then to be Alexander.

Clytus, are these prisoners? of whēce these spoiles?

Like your maiestie they are prisoners, & of Thebes.

Of what calling or reputation?

I know not, but they seeme to be Ladies of honor.

I wil know: Madam, of whence you are I know, but who, I cannot tell.

Alexander, I am the sister of Theagines, whoe fought a battle with thy father, before the Citie of Chye­ronie, where he died, I say which none cāgainsay, valialy.

Lady, there seeme in your wordes sparkes of your brothers deedes, but woorser fortune in your lyfe then his death: but feare not, for you shall liue without violence, enemies, or necessitie: but what are you fayre Lady, an other sister to Theagines?

No sister to Theagines, but an humble hand­maid to Alexander, borne of a meane parentage, but to extreame fortune.

Well Ladies, for so your vertues shewe you, whatsoeuer your birthes be, you shalbe honourably en­treated. Athens shalbe your Thebes, & you shall not be as abiectes of warre, but as subiectes to Alexander▪ Parme­nio, conducte these honourable Ladies into the Citie, charge the souldiers not so much as in wordes to offer them any offence, and let all wants be supplyed so farre forth as shalbe necessary for such persons and my priso­ners.

Hephestion, it resteth now that we haue as great care to gouerne in peace, as conquer in war: that whilest armes cease, Artes may flourish, and ioyning letters with laun­ces we endeuor to be as good Philosophers as soldiers, knowing it no lesse praise to be wise, thē commendable to be valiaunt▪

Your Maiestie therein sheweth that you haue as great desire to rule as to subdue: & needes must that common wealth be fortunate, whose Captaine is a Philosopher, and whose Philosopher is a Captaine.

Actus primus, Schaena secunda.

I serue in steede of a maister, a mouse, whose house is a tub, whose dinner is a crust, and whose boord is a bed.

Then art thou in a state of life, which Philo­sophers commend. A crumme for thy supper, an hande for thy cup, and thy clothes for thy sheetes. For Natura paucis contenta.

Manes, it is pittie so proper a man should be cast away vppon a Philosopher: but that Diogines that dogge should haue Manes that dogbolte, it greeueth na­ture and spiteth arte: the one hauing found the so dis­solute, absolute I would say, in body, the other so single singuler in minde.

Are you mery, it is a signe by the trip of your tongue, and the toyes of your heade, that you haue done that to day, which I haue not done these three daies.

Whats that?

Dined.

I thinke Diogines keepes but cold cheere.

I would it were so, but hee keepeth neither hot nor cold.

What then, luke warme? That made Manes runne from his maister last day.

Manes had reason: for his name foretolde as much.

My name? how so sir boy?

You know that it is called Mons, à mouendo, because it standes still.

Good.

And thou art named Manes, à manendo, bee­cause thou runst away.

Passing reasons, I did not runne awaye, but retire.

To a prison, because thou wouldest haue lea­sure to contemplate.

I will proue that my body was immortall: because it was in prison.

As how?

Did your maisters neuer teache you that the soule is immortal?

Yes.

And the body is the prison of the soule.

True.

Why then, thus to make my body immor­tall, I put it to prison.

Oh bad.

Excellent ill.

You may see how dull a fasting wit is: there­fore Psyllus let vs go to supper with Granichus: Plato is the best fellow of al Phylosophers. Giue me him that reades in the morning in the schoole, and at noone in the kit­chin.

And me.

Ah firs, my maister is a king in his parlour for the body, & a God in his study for the soule. Among all his menne he commendeth one that is an excellente Musition, then stand I by and clap another on the shoul­der and say, this is a passing good Cooke.

It is well doone Granichus, for giue me plea­sure that goes in at the mouth, not the eare, I had rather fill my guttes, then my braines.

I serue Apelles, who feedeth mee, as Dioge­nes [Page] dooth Manes, for at dinner the one preacheth absti­nence, the other commendeth counterfeiting: when I would eat meate, he paintes a spit, & whē I thirst, O faith he, is not this a faire pot, and pointes to a table, whiche conteines the banquet of the Gods, where are many di­shes to feede the eie, but not to fill the gut.

What doost thou then?

This doth hee then bring in many examples that some haue liued by fauours, & proueth that muche easier it is to fatte by colours, and telles of birdes that haue beene fatted by painted grapes in winter: & howe many haue so fed their eies with their mistresse picture, that they neuer desired to take food, being glutted with the delight in their fauours. Then doth he shew me coū ­terfeites, such as haue furfeited with their filthy & loth­some vomites, and with the riotous Bacchanalles of the God Bacchus, and his disorderly crew, which are painted al to the life in his shop. To cōclude, I fare hardly, thogh I go richly, which maketh me when I shuld begin to sha­dow a Ladies face, to draw a Lambes head, and somtime to set to the body of a maide a shoulder of mutton: for semper animus meus est in patinis.

Thou art a God to me: for could I see but a Cookes shop painted, I woulde make mine eyes fatte as butter. For I haue nought but sentences to fill my maw, as, plures occidit crapula quàm gladius: musateiunantibus a­mica: repletion killeth delicately: & an old saw of absti­nence, Socrates: The belly is the heades graue. Thus with sayings not with meate he maketh a gallymafrey.

But how doest thou then liue?

With fine iests, sweet aire, & the dogs almes.

Wel, for this time I wil stanch thy gut, and a­mong pots and platters thou shalt see what it is to serue Plato.

For ioy of Granichus lets sing.

My voice is as clear in the euening as in the mor­ning.

An other commoditie of emptines.

Actus primus, Scaena tertia.

I had neuer such adoe to warne schollers to come before a king: First, I came to Crisippus a tall leane old mad man, willing him presently to appeare before Alexander, he stoode staring on my face, neither mouing his eies nor his body, I vrging him to giue some answer, hee tooke vp a booke, sate downe and saide nothing: Melissa his maid told mee it was his maner, and that of­tētimes she was fain to thrust meate in to his mouth: for that he wold rather starue thē ceasse studie. Wel thoght I, seeing bookish men are so blockish, & so great clearkes such simple courtiers, I will neither be partaker of their cōmons nor their commēdations. Frō thence I came to Plato and to Aristotle, and to diuerse other none refusing to come, sauing an old obscure fellowe, who sitting in a tub turned towardes the sonne, read Greek to a young boy, him when I willed to appeare before Alexander, he answered, if Alexander would faine see me, let him come to me, if learne of mee, lette him come to me, whatsoe­uer it be, let him come to me: why, said I, he is a king, hee answered, why I am a Philosopher, why, but he is Alex­ander, I but I am Diogenes. I was halfe angry to see one so crooked in his shape, to be so crabbed in his sayinges. So going my way, I said thou shalt repent it, if thou cōmest not to Alexander: nay, smiling answered hee, Alexander may repent it, if he come not to Diogenes: vertue must be sought, not offered: and so turning himself to his cell, he grunted I know not what, like a pig vnder a tub. But I must be gone, the Philosophers are comming.

It is a difficult controuersie, Aristotle, and ra­ther to be wondred at, then beleeued, how naturall cau­ses should worke supernal effects.

I doe not so much stand vpon the apparition is seene in the Moone, neither the Demonium of Socrates, as that I cannot by naturall reason giue anye reason of the ebbing and flowing of the Sea, which makes mee in the depth of my studies to crye out, O [...]ns entium misere­re mei.

Cleanthes, and you attribute so muche to na­ture by searching for things which are not to be found, that whilest you studie a cause of your owne, you omitte the occasion it selfe. There is no man so sauage in whom resteth not this diuine particle, that there is an omni­potent, eternall and diuine mouer, which may be called God.

I am of this minde, that that firste moouer, which you tearme God, is the instrument of all the mo­uinges, which we attribute to nature. The earth which is masse, swimmeth on the sea, seasons deuided in them­selues, fruites growing in themselues, the maiestie of the skie, the whole firmament of the world, and whatsoeuer els appeareth miraculous, what man almoste of meane capacitie but can proue it naturall.

These causes shalbe debated at our Philoso­phers feast, in which controuersie I will take parte with Aristotle, that there is Naturanaturans, and yet not God.

And I with Plato, that there is Deus optimus maximus, and not nature.

Here commeth Alexander.

I see Hephestion, that these Philosophers are here attending for vs.

They were not Philosophers, if they knewe not their dueties.

But I much meruaile Diogenes shoulde bee so dogged.

I do not think but his excuse wil be better then Melippus message.

I wil go see him Hephestion, because I long to see him that would commaunde Alexander to come, to whom all the world is like to come. Aristotle & the reste sithence my comming from Thebes to Athens, from a place of conqueste to a pallāce of quiet, I haue resolued with my self in my court to haue as many Philosophers as I had in my camp soldiers. My court shalbe a schoole, wherein I wil haue vsed as great doctrine in peace, as I did in warre discipline.

We are al here ready to be commanded, & glad we are that we are commanded, for that nothing better becommeth kinges then literature, which maketh them come as neere to the Gods in wisdome, as they doe in dignitie.

It is so Aristotle, but yet there is among you, yea & of your bringing vp, that sought to destroy Alex­ander, Calistenes, Aristotle, whose treasons againste his prince shall not bee borne out with the reasons of his Phylosophy.

If euer mischiefe entred into the hearte of Calistenes, let Calistenes suffer for it, but that Aristotle euer imagined any such thing of Calistenes, Aristotle doth de­nie.

Well Aristotle, kindred may blind thee, and affection mee, but in kinges causes I will not stande to schollers arguments. This meeting shalbe for a cōman­dement, that you all frequente my courte, instructe the young with rules, confirme the olde with reasons: lette your liues be answerable to your learninges, leaste my proceedinges be contrary to my promises.

You sayde you woulde aske euerye one of them a question, which yester night none of vs could aunswere.

I will. Plato, of all beastes, which is the subtil­lest?

That which man hetherto neuer knew.

Aristotle, how should a man bee thought a God?

In doing a thing vnpossible for a man.

Crisyppus, which was first, the day or the night?

The day by a day.

In deede straunge questions must haue straung answers, Cleanthes, what say you, is life or death the stronger?

Life, that suffereth so many troubles.

Crates, how long should a man liue?

Till he think it better to die then liue.

Anaxarchus, whether doth the sea or the earth bring forth most creatures?

The earth, for the sea is but a parte of the earth.

Hephestion, me thinkes they haue answered all well, and in such questions I meane often to trye them.

It is better to haue in your court a wise manne, then in your ground a golden mine. Therefore would I leane war, to studie wisdome, were I Alexander.

So would I, were I Hephestion. But come let vs go and giue release, as I promised to our Theba [...] thralles.

Thou art fortunate Aristotle, that Alexander is thy scholler.

And all you happy that he is your souereigne.

I could like the man well, if he could be contē ­ted to be but a man.

He seeketh to draw neere to the Gods in know­ledge, not to be a God.

Let vs questiō a litle with Diogines, why he went not with vs to Alexander, Diogenes, thou didst forget thy duetie, that thou wentst not with vs to the king.

And you your profession, that you went to the king.

Thou takest as great pride to be peeuish, as o­thers do glory to be vertuous.

And thou as great honor being a Philosopher to be thought courtlike, as others shame that be cour­tiers, to be accounted Philosophers.

These austere maners set aside, it is wel known that thou didst counterfeit money.

And thou thy manners, in that thou didst not counterfeit money.

Thou hast reason to contemn the court, being both in bodye and minde too crooked for a courtier.

As good bee crooked, and endeuour to make my selfe straight from the court, as to bee straighte, and learne to be crooked at the court.

Thou thinkest it a grace to be opposite against Alexander.

And thou to be iumpe with Alexander.

Let vs goe: for in cotemning him, we shal bet­ter please him, then in wondring at him.

Plato, what doest thou thinke of Diogenes?

To be Socrates furious, let vs goe.

Actus secundus, Schaena prima.

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 hayle Diogenes to your proper person.

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.

Let vs slip aside Grauickiis, to see the salutati­on betweene Manes and his maister.

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.

Why, at Ala vendibili suspensa badera non est e­pus.

O Psyllus habeo te leco parentis, thou blessestme.

Actus secundus, Schaena secunda.

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 [Page] 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 [Page] 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. [Page] 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 [Page] 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 [Page] 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.

Actus tertius, Schaena prima.

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 [Page] Alexander will be here anon. Psyllus, stay you heere at the window, if anye enquire for me, aunswere, Nonlubet esse domi.

Actus tertius, Scaena secunda.

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 [Page] 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.

Which way callest thou the backwaye, when e­uery way is open.

I meane to come in at his back.

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

Actus tertius, Schaena tertia.

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 [Page] 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.

Actus tertius, Schaena quarta.

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 [Page] 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.

Occasion cannot want, if wil doe not. Behold all Persia swelling in the pride of their owne power, the Scithians carelesse what courage or fortune canne doe: the Egyptians dreaminge in the southsayinges of theyr Augures, and gaping ouer the sinoak of their beastes in­tralles. All these Alexander are to bee subdued, if that world be not slipped out of your head, which you haue sworne to conquer with that hand.

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 [Page] 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, [Page] 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 [Page] 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.

Actus tertius, Schaena quinta.

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 [Page] 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 [Page] 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 y^t 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.

Actus quartus, Schaena prima.

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.

Methinks so wise a man should not be so mad, his body must needes be too heauy.

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. [Page] 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.

No, I warrant you: for I will alwayes say the A­thenians are mischieuous.

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.

Actus quartus, Shaena secunda.

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.

It is small paines for me to sit still, but infinit for you to draw still.

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.

Actus quartus, Schaena tertia.

We heare nothing of our Embassage, a colour [Page] 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.

[Page]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.

Actus quartus, Schaena quarta.

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, [Page] 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.

Actus quartus, Schaena quinta.

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.

Actus quintus, Shaena prima.

I haue brought my sons Diogenes, to bee taught of thee.

What can thy sonnes doe?

You shall see their qualities: Daunce sirha.

How like you this? doth he well?

The better, the worser.

The musicke very good.

The Musitions very badde, who onelye studie to haue their stringes in tune, neuer framing their manners to order.

Now shall you see the other: tumble sirha.

How like you this? why do you laugh?

To see a wagge, that was born to break his neck by destinie, to practise it by arte.

This dogge will bite me, I wil not be with him.

Feare not boy, dogges eate no thistles.

I meruaile what dog thou art, if thou be a dog.

When I am hungry, a mastiue, and when my bel­ly is full, a spaniell.

Doest thou beleeue that there are any gods, that thou art so dogged?

I must needs beleeue there are Gods: for I think thee an enemie to them.

Why so?

Beecause thou hast taught one of thy sonnes to rule his legges, and not to follow learning, the other to bend his body euery way, and his minde no way.

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

It is the next way to driue away a theefe.

Now shall you heare the third, who signes like a Nightingall.

I care not: for I haue heard a Nightingall sing her self.

Sing sirha.

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

But there is neuer a Thrush but can.

What hast thou taught Manes thy man?

To be as vnlike as may be thy sonnes.

He hath taught me to fast, lye hard, and runne a­way.

Howe saiest thou Perim, wilte thou bee with him?

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

Thou needest not be taught, thy legs are so nim­ble.

Howe sayest thou Milo wilte thou bee with him▪

Nay, hold your peace, he shall not.

Why?

There is not roome enough for him and mee both to tumble in one tub.

Well Diogenes, I perceiue my sonnes brook not thy manners.

I thought no lesse, when they knewe my ver­tues.

Farewell Diogenes, thou neededst not haue scra­ped rootes, if thou woldest haue followed Alex­ander.

Nor thou haue followed Alexāder, if thou hadst scraped rootes.

Actus quintus, Schaena secunda.

I feare me Apelles, that thine eies haue blabbed that, which thy tongue durste not. What little regarde hadst thou, whilest Alexander viewed the counterfeite of Cam­paspe, thou stoodest gazing on her countenaunce? If hee espy or but suspect, thou must needes twise perishe with his hate, and thine owne loue. Thy pale lookes, when he blushed, thy sadde countenaunce, when hee smyled, thy sighes, when he questioned, may breede in him a ielosie, perchaunce a frenzey. O loue, I neuer beefore knewe what thou wert, and nowe haste thou made mee that I know not what my self am? Onely this I knowe, that I must endure intollerable passions, for vnknowne plea­sures. Dispute not the cause wretch, but yeelde to it: for better it is to melt with desire, then wrastle with loue. Cast thy selfe on thy carefull bedde, be content to lyue vnknown, and die vnfounde. O Campaspe, I haue pain­ted thee in my hearte, paynted? nay, contrarye to mine arte, imprinted, and that in suche deepe Characters, that nothing can rase it out, vnlesse it rubbe thy hearte out.

Actus quintus, Schaena tertia.

It shal go hard, but this peace shal bring vs some pleasure.

Downe with armes, and vp with legges, this is a world for the nonce.

Sweete youthes, if you knew what it were to saue your sweete bloud, you would not so foolishly go about to spend it. What delight can there be in gasshinge, to make foule scarres in faire faces, & crooked malmes in streight legges? as though men being borne goodlye by nature, would of purpose become deformed by follye, and all forsooth for a new found tearme, called valiant, a worde which breedeth more quarrelles then the sense can commendation.

It is true Lays, a featherbed hath no fellow, good drinke makes good bloud, and shal pelting wordes spill it?

I meane to enjoy the world, and to draw out my life at the wiredrawers, not to curtall it off at the cutte­lers.

You may talke of warre, speake bigge, conquer worldes with great wordes: but stay at home, where in steede of Alarums you shall haue daunces, for hot bat­telles with fierce menne, gentle skirmishes with faire womenne. These pewter coates canne neuer sitte so well as satten dublets. Beleeue mee, you cannot conceiue the pleasure of peace, vnlesse you despise the rudenes of warre.

It is so. But see Diogenes prying ouer his tubbe: Diogenes, what saiest thou to such a morsel?

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

Thou speakest as thou arte, 'it is no meate for dogges.

I am a dogge, and Phylosophy rates mee from carion.

Vnciuill wretch, whose manners are aunswera­ble to thy callynge, the tyme was thou wouldest haue hadde my companie, had it not beene, as thou saidst too deare.

I remember there was a thing, that I repented [Page] me of, and now thou haste told it, indeede it was too deare of nothing, and thou deare to no bo­dye.

Downe villaine, or I wil haue thy head broken?

Will you couch?

Auaunt curre: Come sweete Lays, let vs goe to some place, and possesse peace. But first let vs sing, there is more pleasure in tuning of a voyce, then in a vollye of shotte.

Now let vs make haste, least Alexander finde vs here.

Actus quintus, Schaena quarta.

Mee thinketh Hephestion you are more melan­choly then you were accustomed; but I perceiue it is all for Alexander. You can neither brooke this peace, nor my pleasure, be of good cheare, though I winke, I sleepe not.

Melancholy I am not, nor well content: for I know not how there is such a ruste crept into my bones with this long ease, that I feare I shall not scowre it out with infinite labours.

Yes, yes, if all the trauailes of conquering the world will set either thy body or mine in tune, wee will vndertake them. But what think you of Apelles? Did yee euer see any so perplexed? Hee neither aunswered dire­ctly to any question, nor looked stedfastly vppon anye thing. I hold my life the painter is in loue.

It may be: for commonly we see it incident in artificers to be inamoured of their own workes, as Ar­chidamus of his woodden douc, Pygmalion, of his iuorie [Page] Image, Arachue of his woddē swan, especially painters, who playing with their own conceites, now coueting to draw a glauncing eie, then a rolling, now a wincking; stil mending it, neuer ending it, till they bee caught with it, and then poore soules they kisse the colours with their lippes, with which before they were loth to tainte theyr fingers.

I wil finde it out. Page, goe speedelye for Apelles, will him to come hether, and when you see vs earnestly in talke, sadenly cry out, Apelles shoppe is on fire.

It shal be done.

Forget not your lesson

I [...] what your deuice shalbe.

The euent shall proue.

I pittie the poore painter, if he be in loue.

Pittie him not, I pray thee, that seuere grauity set aside, what do you think of loue?

As the Macedonians doe of their Hearbe Beet, which looking yellow in the ground; and blacke in the hand, thinke it better seene then toucht.

But what do you imagine it to be.

A word by superstition thought a God, by vse turned to an humour, by self will made a slattering mad­nesse.

You are too hard harted to think so of loue. Let vs go to Diogenes. Diogenes, thou maist think it somwhat, that Alexander commeth to thee againe so soone

If you come to learn, you could not come soone enough, if to laugh, you be come too soone.

It would better become thee to be more curte­ous, and frame thy self to please.

And you [...] losse, if you durst displease.

What dost thou think of the time we haue here?

That we haue lit be; and lose much.

If one be sick, what wouldest thou haue him do?

Be sure that he make not his Phisit [...]on his hi [...]e.

If thou mightest haue thy wil, how much groūd would content thee?

As much as you in the ende must bee contented withall.

What, a world?

No, the length of my body.

Hephestion, shal I be a litle pleasaunt with him?

You may: but he wil be very peruerse with you.

It skilleth not, I cannot be angry with him. Dio­genes, I pray thee, what dost thou think of loue?

A litle worser then I can of hate.

And why?

Because it is better to hate the thinges, which make to loue, thē to loue the things, which giue occasion of hate.

Why, be not women the best creatures in the world?

Next men and Bees.

What dost thou dislike chiefly in a woman?

One thing.

What?

That she is a woman.

In mine opinion thou wert neuer born of a wo­man, that thou thinkest so hardly of womē. But not cō ­meth Apelles, who I am sure is as far from thy thoghts, as thou art frō his cunning. Diogenes, I wil haue thy cabin re­moued nerer to my court, because I wil be a philosopher

And when you haue done so, I pray you remoue your court further from my cabinne, because I wil not be a courtier.

But here commeth Apelles. Apelles, what peece of work haue you now in hand?

None in hand, if it like your maiestie: but I am deuising a platforme in my head.

I think your hand put it in your head. Is it no­thing about Venus?

No, but some thing about Venus.

Apelles, Apelles, looke about you, your shope is on fire.

Ay me, if the picture of Campaspe be burnt, I am vndone.

Stay Apelles, no haste, it is your hart is on fire, not your shop, & if Camp. hang there, I wold she were burnt. But haue you the picture of Campaspe? Beelike you loue her wel, that you care not thogh al be lost, so she be safe.

Not loue her: but your Maiestie knowes that painters in their last works are said to excell themselues, and in this I haue so much pleased my self, that the sha­dow as much delighteth mee beeing an artificer, as the substaunce doth others that are amorous.

You lay your colours grosely, though I could not paint in your shop, I cā spy into your excuse. Be not asha­med Apelles, it is a Gentlemans sport to be in loue. Call hither Campaspe. Me thinks I might haue bin made pri­uie to your affection, though my counsel had not beene necessary, yet my countenance might haue bin thought requisite. But Apelles forsooth loueth vnder hand, yea & vnder Alexanders nose, and, but I say no more.

Apelles loueth not so: but he liueth to do as A­lexander will.

Compaspe, here is newes, Apel. is in loue with you.

It pleaseth your maiesty to say so.

Hephestion, I wil try her to. Campaspe, for the good qualities I know in Apelles and the vertue I see in you, I am determined you shal enioy one the other. Howe saye you Campaspe, would you say, I?

Your handmaid must obey, if you commaund.

Think you not Hephestion that shee would faine be commaunded?

I am no thought catcher, but I gesse vnhappily.

I will not enforce mariage, where I cannot cō ­pel loue.

But your maiestie may moue a question, where [Page] you be willing to haue a match.

`Hephestion, these parties are agreed, they would haue me both priest and witnesse. Apelles, take Campaspe, why moue ye not? Campaspe, take Apelles, wil it not be? If you be ashamed one of the other, by my consent you shal neuer come togeather. But dissemble not Campaspe, do you loue Apelles?

Pardon my Lord, I loue Apelles.

Apelles, it were a shame for you, being loued so openly of so faire a virgin, to say the contrary. Doe you loue Campaspe?

Onely Campaspe.

Two louing wormes, Hephestion, I perceiue Alex­ander cannot subdue the affections of menne, though he cōquer their countries. Loue falleth like dew aswel vpō the low grasse, as vppon the high Caedar. Sparkes haue their heate, Antes their gall, Flyes their splene. Well, enioy one an other, I giue her thee frāckly Apelles. Thou shalt see that Alexander maketh but a toye of loue, and leadeth affection in setters, vsing fācie as a foole to make him sport, or as a minstrell to make him merry. It is not the amorous glaunce of an eie can settle an idle thought in the heart, no no, it is childrens game, a life for seame­sters and schollers, the one pricking in cloutes haue no­thing els to thinke on, the other picking fancies out of books, haue litle els to meruaile at. Go Apelles take with you your Campaspe, Alexander is cloied with looking on that, which thou wondredst at.

Thankes to your maiestie on bended knee; you haue honoured Apelles.

Thankes with bowed hearte▪ you haue blessed Campaspe.

Page, go warne Clitus and Parmenio and the o­ther Lordes to be in a readines, let the trumpet sounde, strike vp the drumme, and I will presently into Persia. [Page] How now Hephestion, is Alexander able to resisle loue as he lift?

The conquering of Thebes was not so honoura­ble, as the subdueing of these thoughts.

It were a shame Alexander should desire to com­maund the world, if he could not commaund himselfe. But come, let vs goe, I wll try whether I can better beare my hand with my heart, then I could with mine eie. And good Hephestion, when, al the world is woone, and euery countrey is thine and mine, either find me out an other to subdue, or of my word I will fall in loue.