CAMPASPE

Sir, I had thought you had been commanded to paint with your hand, not to gloze with your tongue, but as I have herd, it is the hardest thing in painting to set down a hard favour, which makes you to despair of my face, and then shall you have as great thanks to spare your labour, as to discredit your art. I am too young to understand your speech, though old enough to withsta ̄ worser your devise: you have been so long used to colours, you can do nothing but colour. Why the ̄ , paint me without eyes, for I am blind? No. And would you could so now shadow me, that I might not be perceived of any. What are these pictures? A fair woman, but a foul deceit. A famous son, but and infamous fact. Nay, therefore it was evil done, because he was a God. What gold can make one yield to desire? Were all the Gods Like this Jupiter? I think in those days love was well ratified a mong men on earth, when lust was so full auto rised by the Gods in heaven. Were women never so fair, men would be false. What counterfeit is this Apelles? What, be there also loving Goddesses? How is she hired, by prayer, by sacrifice, or bribs? What prayer? What sacrifice? What bribes? No, nor love in me. How so? Flattered perchance of some. If you begin to tip your tonge with cunning, I pray dip your pensil in colours, and fallen to that you must do, not that you would do. Yes my lord, seeing so disordered a countena ̄ ce, he fears he shall, shadow a deformed counter feit. It is small pains for me to fit still, but infinite for you to draw still. If your tongue were made of the same flesh that your heart is, your words would be as your thoughts are: but such a common thing it is amongst you to come mend, that oftentimes for fashion sake you call the ̄ bew tifull, whom you know black. Whet their tongues on their hearts. I would they did. Why, would you have them dissemble? So that you will answer me and other without excuse. He that made me last in the world. I had thought it had been a man: but whom do you honour most Apelles? My picture? You told me Apelles, you would never end. That is, neither to have beginning nor ending. What will you say, if Alexander perceive your love? But how if he will not suffer thee to see my per son? That will not feed thy heart. Well, I must be gone: but this assure your self, that I had rather be in thy shop grinding colours, then in A lexanders court, following higher Fortune's. Foolish wench, what hast thou done? that alas which cannot be undone, and therefore I fear me undone. But content is such a life, I care not for abundance. Oh Apel less, thy love comes from the heart, but Alex anders from the mouth. The love of Kings is like the blowing of winds, which whistle sometime gently among the leaves, and straight ways turn the trees up by the roots, or fire which warmeth a far off, and burns near hand, or the sea, which makes men hoist their sails in a flattering calm, and to cut their masts in a rough storm. They place affection by times, by policy, by appointment, if they frown, who dares call them unconstant, if bewray secrets, who will term them untrue, if fallen to other loves, who trembles not, if he call them unfaithful. In kings there can be no love, but to Queens: for as near must they meet in may sty, as they do in affection. It is requisite to stand a loof from kings love, love, and lightning. It pleases your majesty to say so. Your handmaid must obey, if you command. But your majesty may move a question, where you be willing to have a match. Pardon my Lord, I love Apelles. Thanks with bowed heart you have blessed Campaspe. Campaspe, it is hard to judge whither thy choice be more unwise, or thy chance unfortunate. Dost thou prefer, but stay, utter not that in words, which makes thine ears to glow with thoughts. Tus better thy tongue wag, then thy heart break. Hath a painter crept further into thy mind then a prince? Apel less then Alexander? Found wench, the baseness of thy mind bewrays the meanness of thy birth. But alas, affection is a fire, which kindleth aswell in the bramble as in the oak, and catches hold where it first lights, not where it may best burn, Larks that mount aloft in the air, built their nests below in the earth, and women that cast their eyes upon kings, may place their hearts upon vassals. A needle will become thy fingers better then a lute, and a distasfe is fitter for thy hand then a sceptre. Ants live safely, till they have got wings, and Ju niper is not blown up, till it hath got and high top. The mean estate is without care as long as it continue eth without pride. But here comes Apelles, in whom I would there were the Like affection. Then if it be such a thing to be Alexander, I hope it shall be no miserable thing to be a virgin. For if he save our honours, it is more the ̄ ; to restore our goods. And rather do I wish he preserve our fame then our lives, which if he do, we will confess there can be no greater thing then to be Alexander. No sister to Theagines, but and humble hand maid to Alexander, born of a mean parentage, but to extreme fortune.