Fred.  Not touch your hand, Other then humble as becomes a sonne; But she shall suffer for enchanting you.

Valen.  I am a Dutchesse, set my ransome downe.

Fred.  A Dutchesse! whence proceeds that borowed name? 
Of what continuance? scarcely hath the Sunne
Beheld thy pride a day, but doth decline
Shaming to view a crowned Concubine.

Duke.  In mine owne honour, Fredericke, I command Thou set a ransome on Valentia.

Fred.  What honor’s that? your Dukedomes interest?  Your princely birth? your honerable fame?  All these are blemisht with a strumpets name.

Mon.  Be not so cruell to bereave her life ’Twill draw upon thee a perpetuall scar,—­ Thy fathers curse, and a continuall warre.

Duke.  Oh doe not threaten; Fredericke is so mild
He will not prove such a degenerate child. 
I cannot blame him tho’ hee rise in armes: 
’Twas not in hate to me, but in disdaine
That I should sell my royaltie so vaine;
But did he know the value of the jem,
Hee would not crase[204] it for a Dyadem. 
That shee was common her owne words approve,
But many faults are cover’d where men love. 
As thou respects my blessing and good dayes,
Restore her, Fredericke, and augment her prayse.

Fred.  Restore her?

Albert.  Never.

Duke. Albert, thou wert kind And I ne’re wrong’d thee; doe not change thy minde.

Hat.  You doe abase your honour to intreate.

Duke.  How can I choose? my affection is so great.

Alfred.  Your power is strong, the enemy is but weake.

Duke.  In her destruction all my powers will breake. 
As thou dost hope of kindnesse in thy choyse
If ere thou love, give eare unto my voice;
Turne not aside thy eye, the feares I feele
Makes me to bow, where tis thy part to kneele. 
Loe vassailelike, laying aside command,
I humbly crave this favour at thy hand: 
Let me have my beloved, and take my state;
My life I undervalue to that rate. 
Crave anything that in my power doth lye,
Tis thine, so faire Valentia may not dye.

Fred.  My soule is griev’d, and it appals my blood
To see my father pusseld in such mood. 
Yet shall shee dye, Ile doe as I have said;
With mine hand Ile chop off the Strumpets head.

Alberto.  Kill her, my Lord, or let me have the honour.

Duke.  Tigers would save her, if they lookt upon her;
Shee is so beautifull, so heavenly bright,
That she would make them love her for the sight. 
Thou art more rude then such if thou proceede
In the execution of so vilde a deede. 
Remember one thing, I did never love
Till thou, my Fredericke, broughtst that fatall Glove. 
That and the Owners name thou didst descry;
Onely for that cause, let not my love dye.