APELLES

Not yet: Beauty is not so soon shadowed, whose perfection comes not within the compass either of cunning or of colour. Lady, I doubt whither there be any colour so fresh, that may shadow a countenance so fair. Mistress, you neither differ from your self nor your sex: for knowing your own perfectio ̄ , you seem to dispraise that which men most commend, drawing the ̄ by that mean into and admiration, where feeding themselves they fall into and ecstasy, your modesty being the cause of the one, and of the other, your affections. Indeed the colours I see, I fear, will altar the continued lour I have: but come Madam, will you draw near: for Alexander will be here anon. Psyllus, stay you here at the window, if any inquire for me, answer, Nonlubet esse domi. I shall never draw your eyes well, because they blind mine. Were you ever shadowed before of any? It were pity, but that so absolute a face should furnish Venus temple amongst these pictures. This is Laeda, whom Jove deceived in likeness of a swan. This is Alcmena, unto who ̄ Jupiter came in shape of Amphitrio ̄ her husband, and begat Hercules. He might do it, because he was a God. This is Danae, into whose prison Jupiter drisled a golden shewre, and obtained his desire. This is Europa, whom Jupiter ravished, this Anti opa. There were many Gods in this Like Jupiter. Nay, you may imagine there were wome ̄ passing a miable, when ̄ there were Gods exceeding amorous. Were women never so false, men would be found. This is Venus, the Goddess of love. This is she that hath power to command the very affections of the heart. By prayer, sacrifice and bribes. Vows irrevocable. Hearts ever sighing, never dissembling. Roses and kisses? but were you never in love? Then have you injuried many. Because you have been loved of many. Is it not possible that a face so fair, and a wit so sharp, both without comparison, should not be apt to love. Here. Your majesty must know, it is no less harden to paint savours then virtues, colours can neither speak nor think. The proportion of the face in joust compass, as I can. If you will paint, as you are a king, your Majesty, may begin where you please, but as you would be a painter, you must begin with the face. I marvel in half and hour he did not four. No, but he does it so homely. Never finish: for always in absolute beauty there is somewhat above art. God shield you should have cause to be so cun ning as Apelles. Then had men fewer fancies, & wome ̄ not so many favors. For now, if the hair of her eye brows be black, yet must the hear of her head be yellow: the attire of her head must be different from the habit of her body, else would the picture seem Like the blazon of ancient Armory, not Like the sweet delight of new found ami ableness. For as in garden knots diversity of odours make a more sweet savour, or as in music diverse strings cause a more delicate consent, so in painting, the more colours, the better counterfeit, observing black for a ground, and the rest for grace. Here. You lean too hard. You lean too soft. Your eye goes not with your hand. Your hand goes not with your mind. Like a king. I will. Where have you been all this while? Who was here since my coming? Ungracious wag, I perceive you have been a loitering, was Alexander no body? I will cogell your body for it, and then will I say it was no body, because it was no honest body. Away in. Unfortunate Apelles, and therefore unfortunate, be cause Apelles. Haft thou by drawing her beauty brought to pass, y thou canst scarce draw thine own breath? And by so much the more hast thou increased thy care, by how much the more thou hast showed thy cum ̄ ning: was it not sufficient to behold the fire, and warm thee, but with Satyrus thou must kiss the fire and burn thee? Oh Campaspe, Campaspe, art must yield to nature, reason to appetite, wisdom to affection, Could Pygmalion entreat by prayer to have his Ivory turned into flesh? and can not Apelles obtain by plaints to have the picture of his love changed to life? Is painting so far inferior to carving? or dost thou Venus more delight to be hewed with Chisels, then shadowed with colours? what Pigma dion, or what Pyrgoteles, or what Lysippus is he, that ever made thy face so fair, or spread thy fame so far as I? unless Venus, in this thou enuiest mine art, that in continued louring my sweet Campaspe, I have left no place by cun ning to make thee so amiable. But alas, she is the para mour to a prince. Alexander the Monarch of the arth hath both her body and affection. For what is it that kings cannot obtain by prayers, threats and promi ses? Will not she think it better to fit under a cloth of e state Like a queen, the ̄ in a poor shop Like a huswife? and esteem it sweeter to be the concubine of the Lord of the world, then spouse to a painter in Athens? Yes, yes Apelles, thou mayest smimme against the stream with the Crab, and feed against the wind with the deer, and peck against the steel with the Cockatrice: stars are to be looked at, not reached at. Princes to be yielded un to, not contended with, Campaspe to be honoured, not obtained, to be painted, not possessed of thee: Oh fair face, Oh unhappy hand, & why didst thou draw it so fair a face? Oh beautiful countenance, the express image of Venus, but so ̄ what fresher: the only pattern of that eater nitie which Jupiter dreaming of asleep, could not continued ̄ ceiue again waking. Blush Venus, for I am ashamed to end thee. Now must I paint things unpossible for mine art, but agreeable with my affections: deep and hollow sighs, sad and melancholy thoughts, wounds and slaughters of conceits, a life posting to death, a death galloping from life, a wavering constancy, and unsettled resolution, and what not, Apelles? And what but Apelles? But as they that are shaken with a fever are to be war med with clothes, not groans, and as he that melts in a consumptio ̄ is to be recured by Colices, not conceits: so the feeding canker of my care, the never dying worm of my heart, is to be killed by counsel, not cries, by ap plying of remedies, not by replying of reasons. And sith in cases desperate there must be used medicines y to are ex treame, I will hazard that little life that is left, to restore the greater partly that is lost, and this shall be my first pra ctise: for wit must work, where authority is not. As soon as Alexander hath viewed this portraiture, I will by devise give it a blemish, that by that means she may come again to my shop, and then as good it were to ut ter my love, and die with denial, as conceal it and live in despair. Gentlewoman, the misfortune I had with your picture, will put you to some pains, to sit again to be painted. No Madame, to paint Venus was a pleasure, but to shadow the sweet face of Campaspe it is a heaven. What might men do to be believed? So they do, and speak as they think. I would they did not. Not in love, but their love. But will you give me leave to ask you a question without off ̄ ce? Whom do you love best in the world? That was a God. The thing that is likest you Campaspe. I dare not venture upon your person. But come, let us go in: for Alexander will think it long till we return. I have now Campaspe almost made and end. Never end my love: for it shall be eternal. You are disposed to mistake, I hope you do not mistrust. I will say, it is no treason to love. Then will I gaze continually on thy picture. Yet shall it fill mine eye: besides the sweet thoughts, the sure Hope's, thy protested faith, will cause me to embrace thy shadow continually in mine arms, of the which by strong imagination I will make a sub stance. Now Apelles, gather thy wits together: Cam paspe is no less wise then fair, thy self must be no less cunning then faithful. It is no small matter to be rival with Alexander. If I would play with pictures, I have enough at home. It may be I have painted none so well. And I many better boys. It skilleth not, I cannot be angry with him. Dio genes, I pray thee, what dost thou think of love? None in hand, if it Like your majesty: but I am devising a platform in my head. No, but some thing about Venus. Ay me, if the picture of Campaspe be burned, I am undone. Not love her: but your Majesty knows that painters in their last works are said to excel themselves, and in this I have so much pleased my self, that the sha dow as much delights me being and artificer, as the substance does others that are amorous. Apelles loves not so: but he lives to do as A lexander will. Only Campaspe. Thanks to your majesty on bent knee; you have honoured Apelles.