_Campaspe._ That will not feed thy heart.

_Apelles._ Yet shall it fill mine eye: besides, the sweet thoughts,
the sure hopes, thy protested faith, will cause me to embrace thy
shadow continually in mine arms, of the which by strong imagination
I will make a substance.

_Campaspe._ Well, I must be gone. But of this assure yourself, that
I had rather be in thy shop grinding colours than in Alexander's
court, following higher fortunes.

By a happy stroke of wit Alexander, guessing the truth of the matter,
makes Apelles confess indirectly and unconsciously what discretion would
enjoin him to keep concealed. Apelles and Alexander are talking together
when a servant rushes up, crying out that the former's studio is on
fire. 'Aye me!' exclaims the horrified artist; 'if the picture of
Campaspe be burnt I am undone!' Alexander smiles, for the servant's
alarm is false and pre-arranged, but the alarm of Apelles is too genuine
to have less than the one meaning.

For its own sake, as too choice an example of euphuistic prose to be
missed, we add an extract from the speech of Hephestion, Alexander's
friend and adviser, urging that king to shake off the fetters of love
that bind his arms from further conquest.

Beauty is like the blackberry, which seemeth red when it is not
ripe, resembling precious stones that are polished with honey,
which the smoother they look the sooner they break. It is thought
wonderful among the seamen that Mugill, of all fishes the swiftest,
is found in the belly of the Bret, of all the slowest: and shall it