_Valen_. At the full, At pleasure passe through every spacious Roome. Be he a Prince, Ile know his high discent Or proudly scorne to give him his content. What drum is that? _Van_. A Maske, sent by a friend. _Valen_. Belike our self must know the mysterie; Tell them we are prepar'd to see the Maske, And bid the other noblemen come neere. Thus am I hourely visited by friends; Beautie's a counsellor that wants no fee. They talke of circles and of powerfull spells, Heeres heavenly art that all blacke art excells. _Mon_. Ile walke into the farther gallery. _Enter Duke_. _Valen_. Sir, you are welcome what so ere you be; I guesse your birth great by your bounteous fee. _Duke_. Your humble servant, bound by a sweet kisse. _Valen_. I give you freedome, gentle Sir, by this. [_He whispers her_. I know your mind; first censure of the sport, Then you and I will enter _Venus_ Court. _Duke_. More then immortall, O more then divine, That such perfection, should turne Concubine. _Mon_. That voice is like unto the _Saxon Dukes_. I feare he hath heard I liv'd here in this place, And he is come to doe me more disgrace. _Montano_, hide thyself till he be gone; His daughter thirsts for my destruction. [_Exit Mont_. _Val_. Come sit by me, the Maskers are at hand. _Enter Maske_. Where are my Maides, to helpe to make the dance? _Enter 2 Maids. They dance, Valentia with them; they whisper to have her play at dice and stake on the drum_. _Valen_. What, shall we have a Mumming? heres my Jewell. [_Play on the drum head_. _Duke_. Thou art a jewell most incomparable.-- Malicious heaven, why from so sweete a face Have you exempt the mind adorning grace? [_They stake and play_. _She wins, the drum strikes up_. _Val_. More gold, for this is mine, I thanke yee, dice. _Duke_. And so are all that doe behold thy beautie.-- Were she as chaste, as she is outward bright, Earth would be heaven, and heaven eternal night. The more I drinke of her delicious eye, The more I plunge into captivitie. _She wins, strike up_. _Valen_. Have I wonne all? then take that back agen. What, scorne my gift? I see you are a gentleman. No, is't not possible that I may know Unto whose kindnesse this great debt I owe? Well, Ile not be importunate, farewell; Some of your gold let the torch-bearers tell. _Duke_. Beautious _Madona_, do you know these galants? _Valen_. I guesse them of the Duke of _Saxons_ Court. _Duke_.--My subjects, and so many my corrivalls O every slave is grac't before his Prince. _Valen_. Are you not well sir, that your colour failes?