Apel. Not in loue, but their loue. But wil you giue me leaue to
|aske you a question without offence?||35|
Camp. So that you wil aunswere me an other without excuse.
Apel. Whom do you loue best in the world?
Camp. He that made me last in the world.
Apel. That was a God.
|Camp. I had thought it had beene a man. But whome do you||40|
Apel. The thing that is lykest you, Campaspe.
Camp. My picture?
Apel. I dare not venture vpon your person. But come, let vs go
|in: for Alexander will thinke it long till we returne.||45|
Exeunt 〈into the studio〉.
〈Enter〉 CLYTUS, PERMENIO.
Clitus. We heare nothing of our Embassage, a colour belike to bleare our eyes, or ticle our eares, or inflame our heartes. But what doth Alexander in the meane season, but vse for Tantara, Sol. Fa. La, for his harde couch, downe beddes, for his handfull of water,
|his standinge Cup of wine?||5|
Par. Clytus, I mislike this new delicacie & pleasing peace: for what els do we se now then a kind of softnes in euery mans mind; Bees to make their hiues in soldiers helmets; our steedes furnished with foote clothes of gold, in steede of saddles of steele; more time 10 to bee required to scoure the rust of our weapons, thẽ there was woõt to be in subdewing the countries of our enemies. Sithence Alexander fell from his harde armour to his softe robes, beholde the face of his court: youthes that were woont to carry deuises of victory in their shieldes, engraue now posies of loue in their ringes: they
|that were accustomed on trotting horses to charge the enimy with||15|
|a horne to hunt, thẽ the sound of a trumpet to fight! O Phillip,||20|