Hep. He is dogged, but discrete; I cannot tel how sharpe, with150 a kinde of sweetenes; ful of wit, yet too too wayward.
Alex. Diogenes, whẽ I come this way again, I will both see thee, and confer with thee.
〈Re-enter Page with APELLES.〉
Alex. But here commeth Apelles: how now Apelles, is Venus face155 yet finished?
Apel. Not yet: Bewty is not so soone shadowed, whose perfection commeth not within the compasse either of cunning or of colour.
Alex. Well, let it rest vnperfect, & come you with me, where I wil shewe you that finished by nature, that you haue beene trifling about160 by art.
〈Enter〉 APELLES, CAMPASPE, 〈and PSYLLUS〉.
Apel. Lady, I doubt whether there bee any colour so fresh, that may shadow a countenance so faire.
Camp. Sir, I had thought you had beene commaunded to paint with your hand, not to glose with your tongue; but as I haue heard, it is the hardest thing in painting to set down a hard fauour, which5 maketh you to dispair of my face; and then shall you haue as great thanks to spare your labour, as to discredit your arte.
Apel. Mistresse, you neither differ from your selfe nor your sex: for knowing your owne perfection, you seeme to dispraise that which men most cõmend, drawing thẽ by that meane into an admiration,10 where feeding them selues they fall into an extasie; your modestie being the cause of the one, and of the other, your affections.
Camp. I am too young to vnderstand your speache, thogh old enough to withstand your deuise: you haue bin so long vsed to colours, you cã do nothing but colour15.
Apel. Indeed the colours I see, I feare wil alter the colour I haue: but come madam, will you draw neere, for Alexander will be here anon. Psyllus, stay you heere at the window, if anye enquire for me, aunswere, Non lubet esse domi.
Exeunt 〈into studio〉.____________________