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.