[_Enter_ APELLES.[952]]
_Apel._ I feare mee, Apelles, that thine eyes have blabbed that
which thy tongue durst not! What little regard hadst thou! Whilest
Alexander viewed the counterfeit of Campaspe, thou stoodest gazing
on her countenance. If he espie or but suspect, thou must needs
twice perish,--with his hate and thine owne love. Thy pale lookes 5
when he blushed, thy sad countenance when he smiled, thy sighes
when he questioned, may breed in him a jelousie, perchance a
frenzie. O love! I never before knew what thou wert, and now hast
thou made me that I know not what my selfe am! Onely this I know,
that I must endure intolerable passions for unknowne pleasures. 10
Dispute not the cause, wretch, but yeeld to it; for better it is
to melt with desire than wrastle with love. Cast thy selfe on thy
carefull bed; be content to live unknown, and die unfound.[953] O
Campaspe, I have painted thee in my heart! Painted? Nay, contrary
to mine arte, imprinted; and that in such deepe characters that 15
nothing can rase it out, unlesse it rubbe my[954] heart out. _Exit._