_Diogenes._ He made thee a beggar, that first gave thee anything.

_Crysus._ Why, if thou wilt give nothing, nobody will give thee.

_Diogenes._ I want nothing, till the springs dry and the earth
perish.

_Crysus._ I gather for the Gods.

_Diogenes._ And I care not for those Gods which want money.

_Crysus._ Thou art not a right Cynic that wilt give nothing.

_Diogenes._ Thou art not, that wilt beg anything.

_Crysus._ (_seeing Alexander_). Alexander, King Alexander, give a
poor Cynic a groat.

_Alexander._ It is not for a king to give a groat.

_Crysus._ Then give me a talent.

_Alexander._ It is not for a beggar to ask a talent. Away!

The charm of the play lies in the romance of Apelles' love for Campaspe,
and in the delicacy of his wooing. Here is pure Romantic Comedy, such as
Greene imitated and Shakespeare made delightful. Not at first will
Campaspe yield the gates of her heart, nor does the artist press the
attack with heated fervour. So gentle a besieger is he, that we perceive