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?