urs; and fall to that you must do, not that
you would do.

Thus she sets him aside. Poor Apelles, alone, in a later scene laments
his fate in loving her whom Alexander desires, ending his mournful
soliloquy with a song, the most beautiful of all that Lyly has scattered
so lavishly through his plays.

Cupid and my Campaspe played
At cards for kisses; Cupid paid.
He stakes his quiver, bow, and arrows,
His mother's doves, and team of sparrows;
Loses them too; then, down he throws
The coral of his lip, the rose
Growing on 's cheek, (but none knows how)
With these the crystal of his brow,
And then the dimple of his chin:
All these did my Campaspe win.
At last he set her both his eyes;
She won, and Cupid blind did rise.
O love! has she done this to thee?
What shall (alas!) become of me?

But when the picture is nearly finished, when the sittings are almost
over and with them the intimacy of artist and model, then we discover
that the tender sighs of Apelles have sweetened the friendship of
Campaspe into love, and the secret of each soul is known to the other.

_Apelles._ I have now, Campaspe, almost made an end.

_Campaspe._ You told me, Apelles, you would never end.

_Apelles._ Never end my love, for it shall be eternal.

_Campaspe._ That is, neither to have beginning nor ending.

_Apelles._ You are disposed to mistake: I hope you do not mistrust.

_Campaspe._ What will you say if Alexander perceive your love?

_Apelles._ I will say it is no treason to love.

_Campaspe._ But how if he will not suffer thee to see my person?

_Apelles._ Then will I gaze continually on thy picture.

_Campaspe._ That will not feed thy heart.

_Apelles._ Yet shall it fill mine eye: besides, the sweet thoughts,
the sure hopes, thy protested faith, will cause me to embrace thy
shadow continually in mine arms, of the which by strong imagination
I will make a substance.

_Campaspe._ Well, I must be gone. But of this assure yourself, that
I had rather be in thy shop grinding colours than in Alexander's
court, following higher fortunes.

By a happy stroke of wit Alexander, guessing the truth of the matter,
makes Apelles confess indirectly and unconsciously what discretion would
enjoin him to keep concealed. Apelles and Alexander are talking together
when a servant rushes up, cry