Actus primus. Schaena 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 liberality aboue custome: The­bes is raysed, the people not racked, towers throwne down, bodies not thrust aside, a conquest without con­flict, and a cruell warre in a milde peace.

Clytus, it becommeth the sonne of Phillip to be none other then Alexander is: therfore seeing in the father a ful perfection, who could haue doubted in the son an excellencie. For as the moone can borrow nothing els of the sunne but light, so of a sire, in whome nothing but vertue was, what coulde the childe receiue but singular? it is for Turkies to staine each other, not for Diamondes, in the one to bee made a difference in goodnes, in the other no comparision.

You mistake mee Parmenio, if whilest I com­mend Alexander, you imagine I call Phillip 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 child, I therfore go 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 will 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 spoyle, where wisdome and fortitude beares sway. O Thebes, thy walles were raysed by the sweetnesse of the harpe, but raced 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 there streetes, if he had beene to watch their to wers. But destinie is seldome foreseene, neuer preuented. We are here now captiues, whose neckes are yoaked by force, but whose harts can not yeelde by death. Come Campaspe and the rest, let vs not be ashamed to cast our eyes one him, on whom wee feared not to cast our dartes.

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

Alex. 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 he tendreth vertue, so he Will you, he drinketh not bloud, but thirsteth after honor, he is greedy of victory, but neuer satified with mercy. In fight terrible, as becometh 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 things to be a virgin. For if [Page]he saue our honors, it is more thē to restore our goods. And rather doe I wish hee preserue our fame, then our lyues, which if he do, wee will confesse there can be no greater thing then to be Alexander.

Clitus, are these prisoners? of whēce these spoiles?

Like your maiesty, 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 Theagenes, who fought a battle with thy father before the City of Chy­ronie, where he died, I say which nōe cā gainsay, valiātly.

Lady, there seeme in your words sparkes of your brothers deedes, but woorser fortune in your life then his death: but feare not, for you shall liue without violence, enemies, or necessitie, but what are you fayre Lady, another 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 shew you, whatsoeuer your birthes be, you shal be honourably en­treated. Athens shalbe your Thebes, & you shal not be as abiectes of warre, but as subiectes to Alexander Perme­nio, 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 & 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 vailiant.

Your Maiestie therin 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. I or Natura paucis contenta.

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

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

What is that?

Dined.

I thinke Diogenes keepes but cold cheere.

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

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

Manes had reason: for his name foretold 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 woldest haue leisure to contemplate.

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

As how?

Didde your maisters neuer teach you that the soule is immortall?

Yes.

And the body is the prison of the soule.

True.

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

Oh bad.

Excellent ill.

You may see how dull a fasting wit is: therfore 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 sirs, my maister is a king in his parlour for the body, and a God in his study for the soule. Among all his menne he commedeth one that is an excellent Musition, then stand I by, & 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, whoe feedeth mee as Dioge­nes [Page]doth Manes, for at dinner the one preacheth absti­nence, the other commendeth counterfeiting: when I would eat meat, he paintes a spit, & whē I thirst, O saith he, is not this a faire pot, and points to a table, whiche cōteines the banquet of the Gods, where are many di­shes to feede the eie, but not to fill the gut.

What doost thou then?

This doeth hee then bring in many examples that some haue liued by sauours, & proueth that much easier it is to fatte by colours: and telles of birdes that haue beene fatted by painted grapes in winter: & how 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 ­terfeits, such as haue surfeited with their filthy & loth­some vomits, and with the riotous Bacchanalles of the God Bacchus, & 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, & sometime 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 would make mine eyes fatte as butter. For I haue nought but sentences to fil my maw, as plures occidit crapula quàm gladius, musa ieiunantibus a­mica: repletion killeth delicately: & an old saw of absti­nence, Socrates, The belly is the heads greue. Thus with sayings not with meate he maketh a gally mafrey.

But how doest thou then liue?

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

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

For ioy of Granichus lets sing.

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

Another commodity of emptines.

Actus primus, Schaena tertia,

I had neuer such a doe to warne schollers to come before a king. First, I cam 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 me it was his manner, and that of­tētimes she was fain to thrust meate into his mouth: for that he wold rather starue thē ceasse studie. Well thoght I, seeing bookish men are so blockish, & so great clarkes such simple courtiers, I wil neither be partaker of their cōmons nor their commēdations. Frō thence I came to Plato & to Aristotle, and to diuerse other, none refusing to come, sauing an old obscure fellowe, who sitting in a tub turned towardes the sunne, reade Greek to a yong boy, him when I willed to appeare before Alexander, he answeared, if Alexander wold faine see me, let him come to mee, if learne of me, lette him come to me, whasoe­uer it be, let him come to me. why, said I, he is a king, he 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 sayings. So going my way, I said thou shalt repent it, if thou cōmest not to Alexander: nay smiling answered he: Alexander may repent it, if he come not to Diogenes, vertue must be sought, not offered: and so turning himself to his cel, 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 natural cau­ses should worke supernatural 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 any reason of the ebbing and flowing of the Sea, which makes me in the depth of my studies to crye out, O ens 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, eternal and deuine mouer, which may be called God.

I am of this minde, that that first mouer, which you tearme God, is the instrument of all the mo­uings, which we attribute to nature. The earth which is masse, swimmeth on the sea, seasons deuided in them­selues, fruits growing in themselues, the maiestie of the skie, the whole firmament of the world, & whatsoeuer els appeareth miraculous, what man almost of meane capacity but can proue it naturall.

These causes shalbe debated at our Philoso­phers feast, in which controuersie I wil take parte with Aristotle, that there is Natura naturans, & 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 knew not their dueties.

But I much maruaile Diogenes shoulde be so dogged.

I doe not think but his excuse wilbe better then Melippus message.

I will go see him Hephestion, because I long to see him that would commaund Alexander to come, to whom al the world is like to come. Aristotle & the rest sithence my comming from Thebes to Athens, from a place of conquest to a pallace of quiet, I haue resolued with my self in my court to haue as many Philisophers, as I had in my camp soldiers. My court shalbe a schole, wherein I wil haue vsed as great doctrine in peace, as I did in warre discipline.

We are al here ready to be commaunded, & glad we are that we are commaunded: for that nothing better becommeth kings thē literature, which maketh them come as neere to the Gods in wisdome, as they do 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 heart 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 frequent my courte instructe the young with rules confirme the olde with reasons: lette your liues be answerable to your learnings, leaste my proceedings by contrary to my promises.

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

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

That which man hetherto neuer knew.

Aristotle, how should a man be thought a God?

In doing a thing vnpossible for a man.

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

The day by a day.

Indeede straunge questions must haue straung answeres. 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 thinke 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 aunswered all well, & in such questions I meane often to trie them.

It is better to haue in your courte a wise man then in your ground a golden mine. Therefore would I leaue war, to studie wisdom, were I A­lexander.

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

Thou art fortunate Aristotle, that Alexander is thy scholler.

And you happy that he is your soueraigne.

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 Diogenes, why he went not with vs to Alexander. Diogenes, thou didst forget thy dutie, 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 bee peeuish, as o­thers doe glory to bee vertuous.

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

These austere maners set a side, it is wel known that thou didst counterfeate monye.

And thou thy maners, in that thou didste not counterfeite money.

Thou hast reason to cōtemn the courte, being both in body and mynde too crooked for a courtier.

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

Thou thinkest it a grace to be opposite against Alexander.

And thou to be iump with Alexander.

Let vs go: for in contemning him, wee shall better please him, than in wondring at him.

Plato, what dost thou thinke of Diogenes.

To be Socrates furious, let vs go.

Actus secundus, Schaena prima.

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

Doe so: but mum, not a woord you sawe Ma­nes.

Then stay thou behinde, I will goe with Psyl­lus.

All haile 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 found, bee not all these men?

Called men.

What beast is it thou lookest for?

The beast my man Manes.

He is a beast indeede that will serue thee.

So is he that begat thee.

What wouldest thou do, if thou shouldest find Manes?

Giue him leaue to doo as he hath done before.

Whats that.

To runne away.

Why, hast thou no neede of Manes?

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

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

Vpon condition.

What?

That you should tell me wherefore any of you both were good.

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

And I a prentice, and well seene in painting.

Well then Granichus, bee thou a painter to a­mend thine yll face, & thou Psyllus a Phyloso­pher, to correct thine euil manners. But who is that, Manes?

I care not who I were, so I were not Manes.

You are taken tardie.

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

Manes, thou knowest the last day I threw away my dish, to drink in my hād, because it was superfluous, now I am determined to put away my man, and serue my selfe: Quia non egeo tui vel te.

Maister, you know a while a goe I ran awaye, so doe I meane to do againe, quia scio tibi non esse argen­tum.

I know I haue no mony, neither will I haue e­uer a man, for I was resolued longe sithence to put away both my slaues, money and Manes.

So was I determined to shake of both my dogs, hunger and Diogenes.

O sweete consent beetweene a crowde and a Iewes harp.

Come, let vs reconcile them.

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

How now Manes, art thou gone from thy mai­ster.

Noe, I didde but nowe bynde my selfe to him.

Why, you were at mortall iars.

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

Why, thou art as dogged as he.

My father knew them both litle whelpes.

Well, I will hie mee after my maister.

Why, is it supper time with Diogenes?

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

Why then, euery man to his home, and lette vs steale out againe anone.

Where shall we meete.

Why, at Ala vendibili suspensa haedera non est o­pus.

O Psyllus, habeo te loco parentis, thou blessest me.

Actus secundus, Schaena secunda,

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

I cannot but commend the stoute courage of Timoclea.

Without doubt Campaspe had some 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.

Could I aswell subdue kingdomes, as I can my thoughtes, or were I as farre from ambition, as I am frō loue, al the world wold account me as valiant in armes, as I know my self moderate in affection.

Is loue a vice?

It is no vertue.

Well, now shalt thou see what small difference I make betweene Alexander and Hephestion. And sith thou haste beene alwayes partaker of my triumphes, thou shalt be partaker of my tormētes. I loue Hephesti­on, I loue I loue Campaspe, a thing farre Vnfit for a Mace­donian, for a king, for Alexander. Why hangest thou down thy head Hephestion? blushing to heare that which [Page]I am not ashamed to tell.

Might my wordes craue pardon, and my counsel credite, I woulde both discharge the duetie of a subiect, for so I am, & the office of a friend, for so I will.

Speake Hephestion for what soeuer is spoken, Hephestion speaketh to Alexander.

I can not tel, Alexander, whether the reporte be more shameful 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 could not containe, drawn within the compasse of an idle alluring eie? Wil you handle the spindle with Hercules, when you should shake the speare with Achilles? Is the warlike soūd of drumme, and trumpe turned to the soft noyse of lire, and lute, the neighing of barbed steeds, whose loudnes filled the ayre with terrour, and whose breathes dim­med the sunne with smoak, conuerted to dilicate 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, & who can tell whether immodest? whose eies are framed by nature to inamour, & whose heart was made by nature to inchaunt. I, but she is bewtiful, yea but not therefore chast: I, but she is comly in al parts of the body: yea, but she may be croo­ked in some part of the mind: I, but she is wise, yea, but she is a woman? Bewty is like the black berry which see­meth red, when it is not ripe, resembling pretious stoēs that are polished with honny, which the smother they look, the sooner they breake. It is thought wonderful a­mong the sea men, that Mugil of all fishes, the swiftest, is found in the belly of the Bret of al the slowest: And shall it not seeme monstrous to wisemen, 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, Sepulchres fresh colours, but rottē bones, women faire faces, but false heartes. Remember Alex­ander thou hast a campe to gouerne, not a chamber, fall not from the armour of Mars to the armes of Venus, from the fiery assaults of war, to the maidēly skirmishes of loue, from displaying the Eagle in thine ensigne, to set downe the sparow. I sighe Alexander that where for­tune could not conquer, folly shuld ouercome. But be­hold al the perfection that may be in Campaspe, a hayre curling by nature not arte: sweete alluring eies, a faire face made in dispite of Venus, and a stately porte in dis­daine of Iuno, a witte apt to conceiue, and quick to an­swere a skin as soft as silk, and as smooth as iet, a longe white hand, a fine litle foote, to conclude, all partes an­swerable to the best part, what of this? Though she haue heauenly giftes, vertue and bewtie, is she not of earthly mettal flesh and bloud? You Alexander that would be a God, shew your selfe in this worse then a man, so soone to be both ouerseene and ouertaken in a womā, whose false teares know their true times, whose smooth words wound deeper then sharpe swordes. There is no surfeit so dangerous, as that of honney, nor anye poyson so deadly, as that of loue, in the one phisicke cannot pre­uaile, nor in the other counsell.

My case were light Hephestion, and not worthy to be called loue, if reason were a remedy, or senten­ces could salue, that sence cānot conceiue. Litle do you know, and therefore sleightly do you regarde the dead embers in a priuate persō, or liue coles in a great prince, whose passions and thoughts do as far exceede others in extremitie, as their callings doe in Maiestie. An E­clipse in the Sunne is more then the falling of a starre, none can conceiue the torments of a king, vnlesse hee be a king whose desires are not inferior 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 hart in shiuers: whose woū ­ded thoughtes can neither be expressed nor endured. Cease then Hephestion, with arguments to seeke to refel that, which with their deitie the Gods cannot resist, & let this suffice to aunswere thee that it is a king that lo­ueth and Alexander, whose affectiōs are not to be mea­sured by reason, being immortall, nor I feare me to be borne being intollerable.

I must needs yeeld, when neither reason nor counsell can be heard.

Yeeld Hephestion, for Alexander doth loue, and therefore must obtaine.

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

I am a king, and will commaund.

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

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

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

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

You say that in loue there is no reason, & ther­fore there can be no likelyhood.

No more Hephestion, in this case I wil vse mine owne counsell, and in all other thine aduice, thou maist be a good soldier, but neuer good louer. Cal my Page. Sirha, goe presently 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 neare, 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 palace?

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

Why thē 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 doest thou want?

Nothing that you haue.

I haue the world at commaund.

And I in contempt.

Thou shalt liue no longer than I will.

But I will die whether you will or no.

How should one learn to be content?

Vnlearn to couet.

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

He is dogged, but discrete, I cannot tel how [Page]sharpe with a kinde of sweetenes, ful of wit, yet too too wayward.

Diogenes, whē I come this way again, I will both see thee, and confer with thee.

Doe.

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

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

Well let it rest vnperfect, & come you with me, where I wil shewe you that finished by nature, that you haue beene trifling about by art.

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 shall you haue as great thanks to spare your labour, as to discredit your arte.

Mistresse, you neither differ from you selfe, nor your sex: for knowing your owne perfection, you seeme to dispraise that which men most cōmend, drawing thē by that meane into an admiration, where feeding them selues they fall 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 withstand your deuise: you haue bin so long vsed to colours, you cā do nothing but co­lour.

Indeed the colours I see, I feare wil alter the co­lour I haue: but come madam, will you draw neere, for [Page] Alexander will be here anon. Psyllus, stay you heere at the window, if anye enquire for me, aunswere, Non lubet esse domi.

Actus tertius, Schaena secunda.

It is alwayes 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 Swan, like an Eagle, then must Psyllus with one hand grind colours, and with the other hold the candle. But let him alone, the better he shadowes her face, the more will he burne his owne heart. And now if a manne cold meet with Manes, who I dare say, lookes as leane, as if Diogenes dropped out of his nose.

And here 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 certaine licour to conferre withall.

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 crye for thy dinner?

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

Why foole, that is al 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 things, 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, what is a quip.

We great girders cal 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 suddaine?

Wit wil haue his swing, I am bewitcht, inspird, 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 o­uerwhartes, peristi, actum est de te. I haue drawne bloud at ones braines with a bitter bob.

Let me crosse my selfe: 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 needs con­sume some hard head with fine & prety iests. I am some times 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 to morrow to fly.

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, Al man­ner of men, women or children, that will come to mo­row into the market place, between the houres of nine and ten, shall see Diogenes the Cynick flye.

I do not think he will flye.

Tush, say fly.

Fly.

Now let vs goe: for I will not see him againe til 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 wee may returne speedily.

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 now 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 loue 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 begat Hercules.

A famous sonne, but an infamous fact.

He might do it, because he was a God.

Nay, therefore it was euill 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 dayes loue was wel ratified a­mong [Page]men on earth, when lust was so ful autho­rised by the Gods in heauen.

Nay, you may imagine there wer womē passing amiable, when there were Gods exceeding amorous.

Were women neuer so faire, mē wold be false.

Were womē neuer so false, men wold be fond.

What counterfeit is this Appelles?

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?

Heartes 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 parchance of some.

It is not possible that a face so faire, & a wit so sharpe, both without comparison, shuld not be apt to loue.

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

Actus tertius, Schaena quarta.

Parmenio, I cannot tel how it commeth to passe, that in Alexander now a daies there groweth an vnpatiēt kinde of life, in the morning he is melancholy, at noone [Page]solomne, at all times either more sower or seuere, then he was accustomed.

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

Yet betweene vs there canne be no danger 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 vnlikly his long ease hath altred his humour: that he should bee in loue, it is not impossible.

In loue Clytus? no, no, it is as farre from his thought, as treason in ours, he whose euer waking eye, whose neuer tried heart, whose body patient of labour, whose mind vnsatiable of victory, hath alwayes bin no­ted, cannot so soone be melted into the weak conceites of loue. Aristotle told him there were many worlds, & that he hath not conquered one that gapeth for al, gal­leth Alexander. But here he commeth.

Parmenio, and Clitus, I would haue you both redy to go 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 wil see how Apelles goeth forward: I doubt me that nature hath ouercom arte, & her countenance his cunning.

You loue, and therefore think any thing.

But not so far in loue with Campaspe, as with Bucephalus, if occasion serue either of cōflicte or of conquest.

Ocasion 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 Aegiptians dreaming in the southsayings of their Auguries, and gaping ouer the smoak of their beasts in­tralles. All these Alexander, are to bee subdued, if that world be not slipped out of your head, which you haue sworne to conquere with that hand.

I confesse the labours fit for Alexander, and yet recreation necessary among so many assaults, bloudye wounds, 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 penny Diogenes, I am a Cynick.

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

Why, if thou wilt giue nothing, no body will 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 will giue no­thing.

Thou art not, that will beg any thing.

Alexander, king Alexāder, 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, A waye. Apelles?

Here.

Now Gentlewomanne, doeth not your beauty [Page]put the painter to his trump?

Yes my Lorde, seeing so disordered a counte­naunce he feareth he shall shadow a deformed counterfeit.

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

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

Where do you first begin, when you drawe any picture?

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

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

If you will paint, as you are a king, your Maie­stie, may beginne where you please, but as you wold be a painter, you must begin with the face.

Aurelius would in one houre colour four faces.

I meruaile in half an houre he did not foure.

Why, is it so easie?

No but he doth it so homely.

When will you finish Campaspe?

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

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

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

Me thinketh 4. colours are sufficiēt to shadow any countenance, & so it was in the time of Phyaias.

Thē had mē fewer fancies, & womē not so many fauors. For now, if the haire of her eie browes be black, [Page]yet must the haire of her head be yellowe: the attire of her head must be different from the habit of her body, els must the picture seeme like the blason of auncient armorie, not like the sweet delight of new found ami­ablenes. For as in garden knottes diuersitie of odours make a more sweet sauor, or as in musicke diuers strings 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 will paint, & 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 mind.

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

Like a king.

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

I will.

Now Hephestion, doth not this matter cotton as I would, Campaspe looketh pleasauntlye, liberty wil en­crease her bewty, & my loue shall aduaunce her honour.

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

How stately she passeth bye, yet how so berly, a [Page]sweet consent in her countenance with a chast disdaine, desire mingled with coynesse, and I cannot tell how to tearme it, a curst yeelding modestie.

Let her passe.

So she shall for the fairest on the earth.

Actus tertius, Schaena quinta.

I shalbe hanged for tarying so long.

I pray God my maister be 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 since 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 will cogell your body for it, and then will I say it was no bodie, because it was no honeste body. Away in.

Vnfortunate Apelles, and therfore vnfortunate, bee­cause Apelles. Hast thou by drawing her bewty broght to passe, that thou canst scarse draw thine own breath. And by so much 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 yeeld 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 dost thou Venus, more delight to be hewed with Chizels, then shadowed with colours? what Pigma­lyon, or what Pyrgoteles, or what Lysppus is hee, that euer made thy face so fayre or spread thy fame so farre as I? vnlesse, Ʋenus, 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, she is the para­mour to a prince. Alexander the monarch of the earth hath both her body and affection. For what is it that kinges cannot obtaine by praiers, threates and promi­ses? Wil not she think it better to sit vnder a cloth of e­state like a queene, then in a poore shop like a huswife? and esteme it sweeter to be the concubine of the Lord of the world, then spouse to a painter in Athēs? Yes, yes Apelles, thou maist swimme against the streame with the Crab, and feede against the winde with the deere, and pecke against the steele with the Cockatrice: starres are to be looked at, not reched at, princes to bee yeelded vnto, not contended with: Campaspe to bee honored, not obtained to be painted not possessed of thee. O fair face, O vnhappy hand, & why didst thou draw it so faire a face? O bewtifull countenance, the expresse image of Venus, but sowhat fresher: the only pattern of that eter­nitie, which Iupiter dreaming of aslepe, could not con­ceiue again wakīg 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, wounds 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, & as he that melteth in [Page]a consumption is to bee recured by Colices, not con­ceites: so the feeding cāker of my care, the neuer dying worm of my hart is to be killed by coūsel, not cries by applying of remedies, not by replying of reasons. And sith in cases desperat there must be vsed medicines that are extreme, I wil hazard that litle life that is left, to re­store the greater part that is lost, & this shalbe my first practise: for wit must work, where authoritie is not. As­soone as Alexander hath viewed this portraiture, I will by deuise giue it a blemish, that by that meanes she may come again to my shop, and then as good it were to vt­ter my loue, and die with deniall, as conceale it, & liue in despaire.

Actus quartus, Schaena prima.

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

I will not loose the flight of so faire a fowle as Diogenes is, though my maister cogel my no bo­die, as he threatned.

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

We shall 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 fly, hath he feathers?

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

Me thinkes so wise a man should not be so mad, his body must needes be to heauy.

Why, hee hath eaten 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 begin to flocke, and behold my may­ster bustles himselfe to flye.

Yee wicked and beewtiched Atheneans, whose bodies make the earth to groane, and whose breathes infect the aire with stench. Come ye to see Diogenes fly? Diogenes commeth to see you sinke? yee call me dog: so I am, for I long to gnaw the boanes in your skins. Yee tearme me an hater of menne: no, I am a hater of your maners. Your liues dissolute, not fearing death, will proue your deaths desperate, not hoping for life: what do you els in Athens but sleepe in the day, and surfeite in the night: back Gods in the morning with pride, in the euening belly Gods with gluttonie. You flatter kings, & call them Gods: speake trueth of your selues, & confesse you are diuels. From the Bee you haue taken not the honney, but the wax to make your religion, fra­ming it to the time, not to the trueth. Your filthy luste you colour vnder a courtly colour of loue, iniuries a­broad vnder the title of pollicies at home, and secrete malice creepeth vnder the name of publick iustice. You haue caused Alexander to dry vp springs & plant Vines, to sow roket and weede endiffe, to sheare sheepe, and shrine foxes. Al cōscience is sealed at Athens. Swearing commeth of a hot mettal: lying of a quick wit: flattery of a flowing tongue, vndecent talk of a mery disposi­tion. Al things are lawfull at Athens. Either you thinke there are no Gods, or I must think ye are no men. You build as though you should liue for euer, and surfet as though you should die to morow.

None teacheth true Phylosophy but Aristotle, because he was the kings schoolemaister. O times, O menne, O coruption 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 hie, your heads must lye leuell with your feete. Thus haue I flowne ouer your disordered liues, and if you wil not amend your manners, I wil stu­dy to fly further from you, that I may be neerer to ho­nesty.

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

It was no shame to go 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 wilt thou not flye?

I tell thee vnlesse thou be honest, I will flye.

Dog, dog, take a boane.

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

We wil tel Alexander, that thou reprouest him behinde his back.

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

We wil cause al the boyes in the streete to hisse at thee.

Indeede I thinke the Athenians haue their children ready for any vice, because they be A­thenians.

Why maister, meane you not to flye?

No Manes, not without wings.

Euery body will account you a lyar.

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

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

Nor I.

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

Actus quartus, Schaena secunda.

Campaspe, It is hard to iudge whether thy choice be more vnwise, or the chaunce vnfortunate. Doest thou preferre, but stay, vtter not that in woordes, which maketh thine eares to glow with thoughts. Tush better thy tongue wagge, then thy heart break. Hath a painter crept further into thy mind then a Prince? Apel­les thē Alexander? Fond wench, the basenes of thy mind bewraies the meannesse of thy birth. But alas, affection is a fyre which kindleth as well in the bramble as in the oake, & catcheth hold where it first lighteth, not where it may best burne. Larkes that mount aloof 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 distaffe is fitter for thy hand then a Scepter. Ants liue safely, til they haue gotten wings, & Iuniper is not blowne vp, till it hath gotten an hie top. The meane estate is without care, as long as it continueth without pride. But here commeth Apelles, in whom I woulde there were the like affection.

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

It is smal 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 sweete face of Campaspe it is a heauen.

If your tongue were made of the same flesh that your heart is, your wordes would be as your thoughtes are, but such a common thing it is amōgst you to com­mēd, that oftentimes for fashion sake you cal thē beau­tifull, whom you know black.

What might men doe to be beleeued?

Whet their tongues on their heartes.

So they doe, and speake as they thinke.

I would they did.

I would they did not.

Why, would you haue them dissemble?

Not in loue, but their loue. But wil you giue me leaue to aske you a question without offence.

So that you wil 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 lykest you Campaspe.

My picture?

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

Actus quartus, Schaena tertia,

We heare nothing of our Embassage, a colour [Page]belike to bleare our eyes, or ticle our eares, or inflame our heartes. But what doth Alexander in the meane sea­son, but vse for 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 & pleasing peace: for what els do we se now then a kind of softnes in euery mans mind, Bees do make their hiues in soldi­ers helmets, our steedes furnished with foote clothes of gold, in steede of saddles of steele. More time to bee re­quired to scoure the rust of our weapons, thē there was woōt 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 charge the eni­my with a launce, now in easie coches ride vp & downe, to court Ladies: in steede of sword and target to hazard their liues, vse pen 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 womē, thy soldiers to louers, gloues worne in veluet, caps in steede of plumes in grauen helmets, thou wouldest ether die among them for sorrow, or confound them for anger.

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

It grieueth me not a little for Hephestion, whoe thirsteth 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 becomes them to tread the measurs in a daunce, that were wont to sette the order for a march.

Actus quartus, Schaena quarta.

I haue now Campaspe, almost made an ende.

You tolde me Apelles, you would neuer ende.

Neuer end my loue: for it shall 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 wil 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 eye: besides the sweete thoughtes, the sure hopes, thy protested faith, wil cause me to imbrace thy shadow continually in mine armes, of the which by strong imagination I will make a sub­staunce.

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

Foolish wensh, what hast thou done? that alas which cannot be vndone, and therefore I feare me vndone. But content is such a lif, I care not for aboundance. O Apel­les, [Page]thy loue commeth from the heart, but Alexan­ders from the mouth. The loue of Kinges is like the blowinge of windes, whiche whistle sometimes gent­lye amonge the leaues, and straight wayes 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 seales 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 cal 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 kinges loue, Ioue, and lightening.

Actus quartus, Schena quinta.

Now Apelles, gather thy wits together: Campas­pe is no lesse wise then fayre, thy selfe must bee 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 now you haue painted it, you play with it.

If I would play with pictures, I haue ynough at home.

None parhaps you like so well.

It may be I haue painted none so well.

I haue knowne many fairer faces.

And I many better boyes.

Actus quintus, Schaena prima.

I haue brought my sons Diogenes, to be 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 study 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 distinie, to practise it by arte.

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

Feare not boy, dogges eate no thistles.

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

When I am hungry, a mastyue, and whē 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 enimie to them.

Why so?

Because 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 selfe.

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, & runne a­way.

How sayest thou Perim, wilte thou bee with him?

I, so he will teache me first to run away.

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

How sayest thou Milo, Wilte thou bee with hym?

Nay, holde your peace, he shal not.

Why?

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

Well Diogenes, I perceaue my sonnes brooke not thy manners.

I thought no lesse, when they knewe my ver­tues.

Farewel Diogenes, thou neededst not haue scra­ped rootes, if thou wouldest haue followed A­lexander.

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

Actus quintus, Schaena secunda.

I feare me Apelles, that thine eies haue blabbed that, which thy tongue durst not. What little regard hadst thou, whilst Alexander viewed the conterfeite of Cam­paspe? thou stoodest gazing on her countenaunce. If he espie or but suspect, thou must needes twice perish with his hate, and thine owne loue. Thy pale lookes when he blushed, thy sadde countenaunce, when hee smiled, thy sighes, when he questioned, may breede in him a ielosie, perchaunce a frenzye. O loue, I neuer before knewe what thou wert and nowe haste thou made mee that I know not what my selfe am? Onely this I knowe, that I must endure intollerable passions, for vnknowne plea­sures. Dispute not the cause wretch, but yeeld 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 vnknowne, and die vnfounde. O Campaspe, I haue pain­ted thee in my heart, painted? nay, contrarye to myne arte, imprinted, and that in suche deepe Characters, that nothing can rase it out, vnlesse it rubbe thy heart 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.

Sweet youths, if you knew what it were to saue your sweete blood, you would not so foolishly go about to spend it. What delight can there be in gasshing, to make foule scarres in faire faces, & 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 valiaunt, a worde which breedeth more quarrells than the sense can commendation.

It is true Layis, a featherbed hath no fellowe, good drink makes good blood, and shal pelting wordes spill it?

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

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 bat­tailes with fierce men, gentle skirmishes with fayre women. These pewter coates can neuer sit 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 tub: Diogenes what sayest thou to such a morsell?

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

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

I am a dogge, and Philosophy rates me from carion.

Vnciuill wretch, whose manners are answer­able to thy calling, the time was thou wouldest haue had my company, had it not beene, as thou saydst too deare.

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

Downe villaine, or I will haue thy head bro­ken.

Will you couch?

Auant curre. Come sweet Lays, let vs goe to some place, and possesse peace. But first let vs sing, there is more pleasure in tuning of a voyce, than in a volly of shotte.

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

Actus quintus, Schaena quarta.

Me thinketh Hephestion you are more melan­choly than 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 rust 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 bodie or mine in tune, we will vndertake them. But what think you of Apelles? Did ye euer see any so perplexed? Hee neither answered dire­ctly to any question, nor looked stedfastly vppon any thing. I holde my life the painter is in loue.

It may be: for commonly we see it incident in artificers to be enamoured of their owne works, as Ar­chidamus of his wodden doue, Pygmalion of his yuorie [Page]Image, Arachne of his woddē swan, especially painters, who playing with their owne concesses, now coueting to draw a glauncing eie, then a roling, now a wincking, still 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 will finde it out. Page, go speedely for Apel­les, wil him to come hither, and when you see vs earnest­ly in talke, sodainly crie out, Apelles shop is on fire.

It shall be done.

Forget not your lesson.

I maruaile what your deuise shalbe.

The euent shall prooue.

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

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

As the Macedonians doe of their hearb Beet, which looking yellow in the ground, and black in the hand, think it better seene than toucht.

But what doe you imagine it to be?

A word by supersticiō thought a God, by vse turned to an humor, by self-will made a flattering 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 learne, you could not come soone enough, if to laugh, you be come too soone.

It would better become thee to bee more cur­teous, and frame thy selfe to please.

And you better to be lesse, if you durst displease.

What dost thou think of the time we haue here?

That we haue little and lose much.

If one be sick what wouldst thou haue him do?

Be sure that he make not his phisition his heire.

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

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

What, a world?

No, the length of my bodie.

Hephestion, shal I be a little plesant with him?

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

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

A little worser than I can of hate.

And why?

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

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

Next men and Bees.

What doest 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 now cō ­meth Apelles, who I am sure is as far frō thy thoughts, as thou art frō his cūning. Diogenes, I wil haue thy cabin re­moued nerer to my court, because I wilbe a philosopher.

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

But here commeth Apelles. Apelles, what peece of worke 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 Ʋenus?

No, but some thing aboue Venus.

Apelles, looke about you, your shop 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 Cam. hang there, I would she were burnt. But haue you the picture of Campaspe? Belike you loue her wel, that you care not thogh al be lost, so she be safe.

Not loue her: but your maiestie knowes that painter [...] in their last works are said to excell themselues, and in this I haue so much pleased my selfe, that the sha­dow as much delighteth mee being an artificer, as the substance doth others that are amorous.

You lay your colours grosly, though I could not paint in your shop, I cā spy into your excuse. Be not asha­med Apelles, it is a gentlemans sporte to be in loue. Call hither Campaspe. Me thinks I might haue bin made pri­uie to your affection, though my counsell 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 doe as Alexander will.

Campas here is newes. Apel. is in loue with you.

It pleaseth your Maiestie to say so.

Hephestion, I will trie her too. Campaspe, for the good qualities I know in Apelles, and the vertue I see in you, I am determined you shal enioy one another. How say you Campaspe, would you say I?

Your handmaid must obey, if you command.

Thinke you not Hephestion that she woulde faine be commanded?

I am no thought catcher, but I gesse vnhappily.

I will not enforce mariage, where I cannot compell loue.

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

Beleeue me 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 shall neuer come together. 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 men, though cōquer their coūtries. Loue falleth like a dew aswel vpō the low grasse, as vpon the high Caedar. Sparkes haue their heat, Antes their gall, Flyes their splene. Well, enioy one another, I giue her thee frāckly Apelles. Thou shalt see that Alexander maketh but a toy of loue, and leadeth affection in fetters, vsing fācie as a foole to make him sport, or a minsttell to make him merry. It is not the amorous glaunce of an eye 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 bookes, haue little else to maruaile at. Go Apelles, take with you your Campaspe, Alexander is cloyed with loo­king on that, which thou wondrest at.

Thanks to your maiestie on bended knee, you haue honoured Apelles.

Thanks withbowed heart, you haue blessed Campaspe.

Page go warne Clytus and Parmenio and the o­ther Lords 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 resist loue as he list?

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

It were a shame Alexander should desire to cō ­mand the world, if he could not commaund himselfe. But come let vs goe, I wil trie whether I can better beare my hand with my hart, than I could with mine eie. And good Hephestion, when al the world is wonne, and euery countrey is thine and mine, either finde me out another to subdue, or of my word I will fall in loue.