Alex. Not with Timoclea, you meane. Wherein you resemble the lapwing, who crieth most where her nest is not.[844] And so 10 you lead me from espying your love with Campaspe,—you crie Timoclea.
Hep. Could I as well subdue kingdomes as I can my thoughts, or were I as farre from ambition as I am from love, all the world would account mee as valiant in armes as I know my selfe moderate 15 in affection.
Alex. Is love a vice?
Hep. It is no vertue.
Alex. Well, now shalt thou see what small difference I make between Alexander and Hephestion. And, sith thou hast been 20 alwaies partaker of my triumphes, thou shalt bee partaker of my torments. I love, Hephestion, I love! I love Campaspe,—a thing farre unfit for a Macedonian, for a king, for Alexander. Why hangest thou downe thy head, Hephestion, blushing to heare that which I am not ashamed to tell? 25
Hep. Might my words crave pardon and my counsell credit, I would both discharge the duetie of a subject, for so I am, and the office of a friend, for so I will.
Alex. Speake Hephestion; for, whatsoever is spoken, Hephestion speaketh to Alexander. 30
Hep. I cannot tell, Alexander, whether the report be more shamefull to be heard or the cause sorrowful to be beleeved? What, is the son of Philip, king of Macedon, become the subject of Campaspe, the captive of Thebes? Is that minde whose greatnes the world could not containe drawn within the compasse of an idle, 35 alluring eie? Wil you handle the spindle with Hercules[845] when you should shake the speare with Achilles? Is the warlike sound of drum and trump turned to the soft noise of lyre and lute, the neighing of barbed[846] steeds, whose lowdnes filled the aire with terrour and whose breathes dimmed the sun with smoake, converted to 40 delicate tunes and amorous glances?[847] O Alexander, that soft and yeelding minde should not bee in him whose hard and unconquerd heart hath made so many yeeld. But you love! Ah griefe! But whom? Campaspe. Ah shame! A maide, forsooth, unknowne, unnoble,—and who can tell whether immodest?—whose eyes are 45 framed by art to enamour, and whose heart was made by nature to enchant. I, but shee is beautifull. Yea, but not therefore chaste. I, but she is comely in all parts of the bodie. But shee may bee crooked in some part of the minde. I, but shee is wise. Yea, but she is a woman. Beautie is like the blackberry, which seemeth 50 red when it is not ripe,—resembling precious stones that are polished with honie,[848] which the smoother they looke, the sooner they breake. It is thought wonderfull among the sea-men, that mugill,[849] of all fishes the swiftest, is found in the belly of the bret,[850] of all the slowest: and shall it not seeme monstrous to wise men that the 55 heart of the greatest conquerour of the world should be found in the hands of the weakest creature of nature,—of a woman, of a captive? Hermyns have faire skins, but foule livers; sepulchres fresh colours, but rotten bones; women faire faces, but false hearts. Remember, Alexander, thou hast a campe to governe, not a chamber. Fall not 60 from the armour of Mars to the armes of Venus, from the fierie assaults of warre to the maidenly skirmishes of love, from displaying the eagle in thine ensigne to set downe the sparrow. I sigh, Alexander, that, where fortune could not conquer, folly should overcome. But behold all the perfection that may bee in Campaspe: 65 a haire curling by nature, not art; sweete alluring eyes; a faire face made in despite of Venus; and a stately port in disdaine of Juno; a wit apt to conceive and quicke to answere; a skinne as soft as silke and as smooth as jet; a long white hand; a fine little foot,—to conclude, all parts answerable to the best part. What of this? 70 Though she have heavenly gifts, vertue and beautie, is shee not of earthly metall, flesh and bloud? You, Alexander, that would be a god, shew your selfe in this worse than a man, so soone to be both overseene and over-taken[851] in a woman, whose false teares know their true times, whose smooth words wound deeper than sharpe swords. 75 There is no surfet so dangerous as that of honie, nor any poyson so deadly as that of love: in the one physicke cannot prevaile, nor in the other counsell.
Alex. My case were light, Hephestion, and not worthy to be called love, if reason were a remedie, or sentences could salve that 80 sense cannot conceive. Little do you know and therefore sleightly doe you regard the dead embers in a private person or live coales in a great prince, whose passions and thoughts doe as farre exceed others in extremitie as their callings doe in majestie. An eclipse in the sunne is more than the falling of a starre: none can conceive 85 the torments of a king, unlesse he be a king, whose desires are not inferiour to their dignities. And then judge, Hephestion, if the agonies of love be dangerous in a subject, whether they be not more than deadly unto Alexander, whose deepe and not to bee conceived sighes cleave the heart in shivers, whose wounded thoughts can 90 neither be expressed nor endured. Cease then, Hephestion, with arguments to seeke to refell[852] that which with their deitie the gods cannot resist; and let this suffice to answere thee,—that it is a king that loveth, and Alexander, whose affections are not to bee measured by reason, being immortall, nor, I feare me, to be borne, being 95 intolerable.
Hep. I must needs yeeld, when neither reason nor counsell can bee heard.