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?
_Duke_. If I be sicke, 'tis onely in the minde:
To see so faire, so common to all kinde;
I am growne jealous now of all the world.--
Lady, how ere you prize me, without pleasure
More then a kisse, I tender you this treasure;
O what's a mint spent in such desire
But like a sparke that makes a greater fire?--
She must be made my Dutches, there it goes;
And marrying her, I marry thousand woes.--
Adiew, kind Mistresse;--the next newes you heare
Is to sit crown'd in an Imperiall chair.[185]
_Valen_. Either the man dislikes me, or his braine
Is not his owne, to give such gifts in vaine,
But 'tis the custome in this age to cast
Gold upon gold, to encourage men to waste.
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