EPIRE. Only to waste some time at cards with her, The lazy hours stick heavy on her thoughts, Which she would lose with some forgetfulness. PHIL. Faith, and play ne'er relish'd worse Within my thoughts. I know not how, but leaden[217] heaviness Draws me to be in love with melancholy. EPIRE. The fitter for you with more light sports To chase that blood-consumer from your breast, Who with a honey-poison doth devour, And kill the very life of livelihood. PHIL. 'Tis true, and therefore shall your counsel tutor me; Where is her majesty? EPIRE. Gone To her privy-chamber, where she doth expect you. PHIL. I will attend her presently. [_Exit_ PHILOCLES. EPIRE. Do, and I will attend thee to thy grave, Poor shallow lord, by much too virtuous. Ho! who's within there? _Enter_ FLORIO. FLO. Your grace's pleasure? EPIRE. Go tell his majesty that I must speak with him. FLO. I go. [_Exit._ _Enter aloft to cards the_ QUEEN _and_ PHILOCLES. QUEEN. Come, my lord, take your place, here are cards, and here are my crowns. PHIL. And here are mine; at what game will your majesty play? QUEEN. At Mount-saint.[218] PHIL. A royal game, and worthy of the name, And meetest even for saints to exercise. Sure, it was of a woman's first invention. QUEEN. It is not saint, but cent, taken from hundreds. PHIL. True, for 'mongst millions hardly is found one saint. QUEEN. Indeed you may allow a double game; But come, lift for the dealing; it is my chance to deal. PHIL. An action most-most proper to your sex. _Enter_ CYPRUS. CYP. How now, my waking dragon, thou whose eyes Do never fall or close through Lethean sleep: What, is there a Hercules that dare to touch Or enter the Hesperian rosaries?[219] EPIRE. Speak softly, gentle lord; behold, behold, The silly birds are tangled in your snare, And have no way to 'scape your punishment. See, how her eyes do court him, and his looks Pay to her love a double interest. Fie, fie! they are to blame. QUEEN. What are you, my lord? PHIL. Your highness' servant, but misfortune's slave. QUEEN. Your game, I mean. PHIL. Nothing in show, yet somewhat in account; Madam, I am blank. QUEEN. You are a double game, and I am no less; there's an hundred, and all cards made, but one knave. EPIRE. Mark that! of my life, she means your majesty. CYP. True, I know she holds me as her varlet, And that I am imperfect in her game; But my revenge shall give me better place, Beyond the hate of her foul impudence. EPIRE. Nay, good my lord, observe: they will confirm you better. QUEEN. What's your game now? PHIL. Four kings, as I imagine.