Exeunt.
Actus quartus. Scæna secunda.[922]
[Enter] Campaspe.[923]
Camp. sola. Campaspe, it is hard to judge whether thy choyce be more unwise or thy chance unfortunate. Doest thou preferre—but stay, utter not that in wordes which maketh thine eares to glow with thoughts. Tush, better thy tongue wagge than thy heart breake! Hath a painter crept further into thy minde than a 5 prince;—Apelles, than Alexander? Fond wench, the basenes of thy minde bewraies the meannesse of thy birth. But, alas, affection is a fire which kindleth as well[924] in the bramble as in the oake, and catcheth hold where it first lighteth, not where it may best burne. Larkes, that mount aloft in the ayre, build their neasts 10 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 than a lute, and a distaffe is fitter for thy hand than a scepter. Antes live safely till they have gotten wings, and juniper is not blowne up till it hath gotten an high top: the meane estate is without 15 care as long as it continueth without pride. [Enter Apelles.] But here commeth Apelles, in whom I would there were the like affection.
Apel. Gentlewoman, the misfortune I had with your picture will put you to some paines to sit againe to be painted. 20
Camp. It is small paines for mee to sit still, but infinite for you to draw still.
Apel. No, madame; to painte Venus was a pleasure, but to shadow the sweete face of Campaspe, it is a heaven!
Camp. If your tongue were made of the same flesh that your 25 heart is, your words would bee as your thoughts are; but, such a common thing it is amongst you to commend that oftentimes for fashion sake you call them beautifull whom you know blacke.
Apel. What might men doe to be beleeved?
Camp. Whet their tongue on their hearts. 30