Psyllus. Nowhere but here. 5
Apel. Who was here sithens my comming?
Psyllus. Nobodie.
Apel. Ungracious wag, I perceive you have beene a loytering! Was Alexander nobodie?
Psyllus. He was a king, I meant no mean bodie. 10
Apel. I will cudgell your bodie for it, and then will I say it was no bodie, because it was no honest bodie. Away, in! Exit Psyllus. Unfortunate Apelles, and therefore unfortunate because Apelles! Hast thou by drawing her beautie brought to passe that thou canst scarce draw thine owne breath? And by so much the more hast 15 thou increased thy care by how much the more hast thou[901] shewed thy cunning? 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! Art must yeeld to nature, reason to appetite, wisdome to affection! Could Pigmalion entreate by prayer 20 to have his ivory turned into flesh, and cannot Apelles obtaine by plaints to have the picture of his love changed to life? Is painting so farre inferiour to carving? Or dost thou, Venus, more delight to bee hewed with chizels then shadowed with colours? What Pigmalion, or what Pyrgoteles, or what Lysippus is hee,[902] that ever 25 made thy face so faire or spread thy fame so farre as I? Unlesse, Venus, in this thou enviest mine art, that in colouring my sweet Campaspe I have left no place by cunning to make thee so amiable.[903] But, alas, shee is the paramour to a prince! Alexander, the monarch of the earth, hath both her body and affection. For what 30 is it that kings cannot obtaine by prayers, threats, and promises? Will not shee thinke it better to sit under a cloth of estate[904] like a queene than in a poore shop like a huswife, and esteeme it sweeter to be the concubine of the lord of the world than spouse to a painter in Athens? Yes, yes, Apelles, thou maist swimme against the 35 streame with the crab, and feede against the winde with the deere, and peck against the steele with the cockatrice:[905] starres are to be looked at, not reached at; princes to be yeelded unto, not contended with; Campaspe to be honoured, not obtained; to be painted, not possessed of thee. O faire face! O unhappy hand! And why 40 didst thou drawe it—so faire a face? O beautifull countenance, the expres image of Venus, but somwhat fresher, the only patterne of that eternitie which Jupiter dreaming, asleepe, could not conceive againe waking! Blush, Venus, for I am ashamed to ende thee! Now must I paint things unpossible for mine art but agreeable 45 with my affections,—deepe and hollow sighes, sad and melancholie thoughtes, woundes and slaughters of conceits, a life posting to death, a death galloping from life, a wavering constancie, an unsetled resolution, and what not, Apelles? And what but Apelles?[906] But as they that are shaken with a feaver are to be warmed with 50 cloathes, not groanes, and as he that melteth in a consumption is to be recured by colices,[907] not conceits, so the feeding canker of my care, the never-dying worme of my heart, is to be killed by counsell, not cries, by applying of remedies, not by replying of reasons. And sith in cases desperate there must be used medicines that are 55 extreame, I will hazard that little life that is left, to restore the greater part that is lost; and this shall be my first practise,—for wit must worke where authoritie is not,—as soone as Alexander hath viewed this portraiture, I will by devise give it a blemish, that by that meanes she may come againe to my shop; and then as 60 good it were to utter my love and die with deniall as conceale it and live in dispaire.
Song by Apelles.
Cupid and my Campaspe playd
At cardes for kisses; Cupid payd.
He stakes his quiver, bow, and arrows,65