Apel. Your hand goeth not with your minde.
Alex. Nay, if all be too hard or soft,—so many rules and regards that ones hand, ones eye, ones minde must all draw together,—I had rather bee setting of a battell than blotting of a boord.[896] But how have I done here? 115
Apel. Like a king.
Alex. I thinke so; but nothing more unlike a painter.[897] Well, Apelles, Campaspe is finished as I wish. Dismisse her, and bring presently her counterfeit after me.
Apel. I will. 120
Alex. [as he crosses the stage.] Now, Hephestion, doth not this matter cotton as I would?[898] Campaspe looketh pleasantly; libertie will encrease her beautie, and my love shall advance her honour.
Hep. I will not contrarie your Majestie; for time must weare out that love hath wrought, and reason weane what appetite nursed. 125
[Campaspe passes on her way to the farther door.]
Alex. How stately shee passeth by, yet how soberly, a sweete consent in her countenance, with a chaste disdaine, desire mingled with coynesse, and—I cannot tell how to terme it—a curst, yeelding modesty![899]
Hep. Let her passe. 130