THE NEW inn OR, The light Heart.  
A comedy. As it was never acted, but most negligently played, by some, the king's Servants. And more squeamishly beheld, and censured by others, the king's Subjects. 1629.  
Now, at last, set at liberty to the Readers, his Maties Servants, and Subjects, to be judged. 1631.  
By the Author, B. jonson. 
Hor..... me lectori credere mallem:  
Quam spectatoris fastidia ferre superbi.   
LONDON, ¶ Printed by Thomas Harper, for Thomas Alchorne, and are to be sold at his shop in Paul's Churchyard, at the sign of the green Dragon. MDCXXXI.   

THE DEDICATION, TO THE READER.  
IF thou be such, I make thee my Patron, and dedicate the Piece to thee: If not so much, would I had been at the charge of thy better literature. Howsoever, if thou canst but spell, and join my sense; there is more hope of thee, then of a hundred fastidious impertinents, who were there present the first day, yet never made piece of their prospect the right way. What did they come for, then? thou wilt ask me. I will as punctually answer: To see, and to be seen. To make a general muster of themselves in their clothes of credit: and possess the Stage, against the Play. To dislike all, but mark nothing. And by their confidence of rising between the Acts, in oblique lines, make affidavit to the whole house, of their not understanding one Scene. Armed, with this prejudice, as the Stage-furniture, or Arras-cloths, they were there, as Spectators, away. For the faces in the hangings, and they beheld alike. So I wish, they may do ever. And do trust myself, and my Book, rather to thy rustic candour, than all the pomp of their pride, and solemn ignorance, to boot. Fare thee well, and fall too. Read  
BEN. JONSON .But, first   

THE ARGUMENT.  
THe Lord FRAMPUL, a noble Gentleman, well educated, and bred a Scholar, in Oxford, was married young, to a virtuous Gentlewoman, Sylly's daughter of the South, whose worth (though he truly enjoyed) he never could rightly value; but, as many green Husbands (given over to their extravagant delights, and some peccant humours of their own) occasioned in his over loving wife, so deep a melancholy, by his leaving her in the time of her lying in, of her second daughter, she having brought him only two daughters, Frances, and Laetitia: and (out of her hurt fancy) interpreting that to be a cause of her husband's coldness in affection, her not being blessed with a son, took a resolution with herself, after her month's time, and thanksgiving rightly in the Church, to quit her home, with a vow never to return, till by reducing her Lord, she could bring a wished happiness to the family.  
He, in the mean time returning, and hearing of this departure of his Lady, began, though overlate, to resent the injury he had done her: and out of his cockbrained resolution, entered into as solemn a quest of her. Since when, neither of them had been heard of. But the eldest daughter Frances, by the title of Lady Frampul, enjoyed the state, her sister being lost young, and is the sole relict of the family.  

Act 1. Here begins our Comedy.  
This Lady, being a brave, bountiful Lady, and enjoying this free, and plentiful estate, hath an ambitious disposition to be esteemed the Mistress of many servants, but loves none. And hearing of a famous new-inn, that is kept by a merry Host, called Good-stock, in Barnet, invites some Lords, and Gentlemen to wait on her thither, as well to see the fashions of the place, as to make themselves merry, with the accidents on the by. It happens, there is a melancholic Gentleman, one Master Lovel, hath been lodged there some days before in the Inn, who (unwilling to be seen) is surprised by the Lady, and invited by Prudence, the Lady's Chambermaid, who is elected Governess of the Sports, in the Inn, for that day, and installed their Sovereign Lovel is persuaded by the Host, and yields to the Lady's invitation, which concludes the first Act. Having revealed his quality before, to the Host.   

In the second Act.  
Prudence, and her Lady express their anger conceived, at the tailor, who had promised to make Prudence a new suit, and bring it home, as on the Eve, against this day. But, he failing of his word, the Lady had commanded a standard of her own best apparel to be brought down: and Prudence is so fitted. The Lady being put in mind, that she is there alone without other company of women, borrows (by the advice of Pru) the Hosts son of the house, whom they dress with the Hosts consent, like a Lady, and send out the Coachman, with the empty Coach, as for a kinswoman of her Ladyships, Mistress Laetitia silly, to bear her company: Who attended with his Nurse, an old charwoman in the Inn, dressed oddly by the Hosts council, is believed to be a Lady of quality, and so received, entertained, and love made to her, by the young Lord Beaufort, etc.: In the mean time, the Fly of the Inn is discovered to Colonel Glorious, with the Militia of the house, below the stairs, in the Drawer, Tapster, Chamberlain, and ostler, inferior officers, with the Coachman Trundle, Ferret, &c. And, the preparation is made, to the lady's design upon Lovel, his upon her, and the Sovereigns upon both.   

Here begins, at the third Act, the Epitasis, or business of the Play.  
Lovel, by the dexterity, and wit of the Sovereign of the Sports, Prudence; having two hours assigned him, of free colloquy, and love-making to his Mistress, one, after Dinner, the other after Supper; The Court being set, is demanded by the Lady Frampul, what Love is? as doubting if there were any such power, or no. To whom, he first by definition, and after by argument answers, proving, and describing the effects. of Love, so vively, as she, who had derided the name of Love before, hearing his discourse, is now so taken both with the Man, and his matter, as she confesseth herself enamoured of him, and, but for the ambition she hath to enjoy the other hour, had presently declared herself: which gives both him, and the spectator's occasion to think she yet dissembles, notwithstanding the payment of her kiss, which he celebrates. And the Court dissolves, upon a news brought, of a new Lady, a newer Coach, and a new Coachman called Barnaby.   

Act 4.  
The house being put into a noise, with the rumor of this new Lady, and there being drinking below in the court, the Colonel, Sir Glorious, with Bat: Burst, a broken Citizen, and Hodge Huffle his champion; she falls into their hands, and being attended but with one footman, is uncivilly entreated by them, and a quarrel commenced, but is rescued by the valour of Lovel; which beheld by the Lady Frampul, from the window, she is invited up, for safety, where coming, and conducted by the Host, her gown is first discovered to be the same with the whole suit, which was bespoken for Pru: and she herself, upon examination, found to be Pinnacia Stuffe, the tailor's wife, who was wont to be preoccupied in all his Customers best clothes, by the footman her husband. They are both condemned, and censured, she stripped like a Doxy, and sent home a foot. In the interim, the second hour goes on, and the question, at suit of the Lady Frampul, is changed from love to valour; which ended, he receives his second kiss, and by the rigor of the Sovereign, falls into a fit of melancholy, worse, or more desperate than the first.  
The fifth, and last Act is the Catastrophe, or knitting up of all, where Fly brings word to the Host, of the Lord Beaufort's being married privately in the new stable, to the supposed Lady, his son; which the Host receives as an omen of mirth. But complains, that Lovel is gone to bed melancholic, when Prudence appears dressed in the new suit applauded by her Lady, and employed to retrieve Lovel. The Host encounters them, with this relation of L. Beaufort's marriage, which is seconded by the L. Latimer, and all the servants of the house. In this while, L. Beaufort comes in, and professes it, calls for his bed, and bride-bowl, to be made ready, the Host forbids both, shows whom he hath married, and discovers him to be his son, a boy. The Lord Bridegroom confounded, the Nurse enters like a frantic bedlem, cries out on Fly, says she is undone, in her daughter, who is confessed to be the Lord Frampul's child, sister to the other Lady, the Host to be their Father. She his wife. He finding his children, bestows them one on Lovel, the other on the Lord Beaufort, the Inn upon Fly, who had been a Gipsy with him, offers a portion with Prudence, for her wit, which is refused; and she taken, by the Lord Latimer, to wife; for the crown of her virtue, and goodness. And all are contented.    

The Scene BARNET. The PERSONS of the PLAY. With some short Characterism of the chief Actors.  
GOod-stocke, the Host (played well) alias, the Lord Frampul. He pretends to be a Gentleman, and a Scholar, neglected by the times, turns Host, and keeps an Inn, the Sign of the light Heart, in Barnet: is supposed to have one only Son, but is found to have none, but two Daughters, Francis, and Laetitia, who was lost young. &c.  
Lovel. A complete Gentleman, a Soldier, and a Scholar, is a melancholy Guest in the Inn. first quarrelled, after, much honoured, and beloved by the Host. He is known to have been Page, to the old Lo. Beaufort, followed him in the French wars, after a companion of his studies, and left Guardian to his son. He is assisted in his love to the Lady Frampul, by the Host, and the Chambermaid, Prudence. He was one, that acted well too.  
Ferret. Who is also called Stote, and Vermin, is Lovel's servant, a fellow of a quick, nimble wit, knows the manners and affections of people, and can make profitable, and timely discoveries of them.  
Frank. Supposed a boy, and the Hosts son, borrowed to be dressed for a Lady, and set up as a stale by Prudence, to catch Beaufort, or Latimer, proves to be Laetitia, sister to Frances, and Lord Frampul's younger daughter, stolen by a beggar-woman, shorn, put into boys' apparel, sold to the Host, and brought up by him as his son.  
Nurse. A poor charwoman in the Inn, with one eye, that tends the boy, is thought the Irish beggar that sold him, but is truly the Lady Frampul; who left her home melancholic, and jealous that her Lord loved her not, because she brought him none but daughters, and lives, unknown to her husband, as he to her.  
Frances. Supposed the Lady Frampul, being reputed his sole daughter, and heir, the Barony descending upon her, is a Lady of great fortunes, and beauty, but fantastical: thinks nothing a felicity, but to have a multitude of servants, and be called Mistress by them, comes to the Inn to be merry, with a Chambermaid only, and her Servants her guests, &c.  
Prudence. The Chambermaid, is elected sovereign of the Sports in the Inn, governs all, commands, and so orders, as the Lord Latimer is exceedingly taken with her, and takes her to his wife, in conclusion.  
Lord Latimer and Lord Beaufort, are a pair of young Lords, servants and guests to the Lady Frampul, but as Latimer falls enamoured of Prudence, so doth Beaufort on the boy, the Hosts son, set up for Laetitia, the younger sister, which she proves to be indeed.  
Sir Glorious Tipto. A Knight, and Colonel, hath the luck to think well of himself, without a rival, talks gloriously of any thing, but very seldom is in the right. He is the Lady's guest, and her servant too; but this day utterly neglects his service, or that him. For he is so enamoured on the Fly of the Inn, and the Militia below stairs, with Hodge Huffle, and Bat: Burst, guests that come in, and Trundle, Barnabe, &c. as no other society relisheth with him.  
Fly. Is the Parasite of the Inn, visitor general of the house, one that had been a strolling Gipsy, but now is reclaimed, to be Inflamer of the reckonings.  
Peirce. The Drawer, knighted by the Colonel, styled Sir Pierce, and young anon, one of the chief of the infantry.  
jordan. The Chamberlain, Another of the Militia, & an officer commands the Tertia of the Beds.  
jug. The Tapster, a Thoroughfare of News.  
Peck. The ostler.  
Bat: Burst. A broken Citizen, an in and in man.  
Hodge Huffle. A cheater, his champion.  
Nick Stuffe. The Lady's tailor.  
Pinnacia Stuffe. His wife.  
Trundle. A Coachman.  
Barnabe. A hired Coachman.  
Staggers. The Smith. Only talked on.  
Tree. The saddler.   

The Prologue.  

YOu are welcome, welcome all, to the new Inn;  
Though the old house, we hope our cheer will win  
Your acceptation: we ha' the same Cook,  
Still, and the fat, who says, you sha' not look  
Long, for your bill of fare, but every dish  
Be served in, i'the time, and to your wish:  
If any thing be set to a wrong taste,  
'Tis not the meat, there, but the mouth's displaced,  
Remove but that sick palate, all is well.  
For this, the secure dresser bad me tell,  
Nothing more hurts just meetings, than a crowd;  
Or, when the expectation's grown too loud:  
That the nice stomach, would ha' this or that,  
And being asked, or urged, it knows not what:  
When sharp, or sweet, have been too much a feast,  
And both out lived the palate of the guest.  
Beware to bring such appetites to the stage,  
They do confess a weak, sick, queasy age,  
And a shrewd grudging too of ignorance,  
When clothes and faces 'bove the men advance:  
Hear for your health, then, But at any hand,  
Before you judge, vouchsafe to understand,  
Concoct, digest: if then, it do not hit,  
Some are in a consumption of wit,  
Deep, he dares say, he will not think, that all—  
For Hectics are not epidemical.    

THE NEW inn.  

Act 1.  

Scene 1.  Host. Ferret. 
I Am not pleased, indeed, you are i'the right;  
Nor is my house pleased, if my sign could speak,  
The sign o'the light Heart. There, you may read it;  
So may your master too, if he look on't.  
A heart weighed with a feather, and out weighed too:  
A brain-child o'mine own! and I am proud on't!  
And if his worship think, here, to be melancholy,  
In spite of me or my wit, he is deceived;  
I will maintain the Rebus 'gainst all humours,  
And all complexions i'the body of Man,  
That's my word, or i'the Isle of Britain!  
You have reason good mine host.  Hos. 
Sir I have rhyme too.  
Whether it be by chance or art,  
A heavy purse makes a light Heart.  
There 'tis expressed! first, by a purse of gold,  
A heavy purse, and then two Turtles, makes,  
A heart with a light stuck in't, a light heart!  
Old Abbot Islip could not invent better,  
Or Prior Bolton with his bolt and Tun.  
I am an Innkeeper, and know my grounds,  
And study 'em; Brain o'man, I study 'em:  
I must ha' jovial guests to drive my ploughs,  
And-whistling boys to bring my harvest home,  
Or I shall hear no Flails thwack. Here, your master,  
And you ha' been this fortnight, drawing fleas  
Out of my mats, and pounding 'em in cages  
Cut out of cards, & those roped round with packthread,  
Drawn thorough birdlime! a fine subtlety!  
Or poring through a multiplying glass,  
Upon a captived crab-louse, or a cheese-mite  
To be dissected, as the sports of nature,  
With a neat Spanish needle! Speculations  
That do become the age, I do confess!  
As measuring an aunt's eggs, with the Silkworms,  
By a fantastic instrument of thread,  
Shall give you their just difference, to a hair!  
Or else recovering o'dead flies, with crumbs!  
(Another quaint conclusion i'the physics)  
Which I ha' seen you busy at, through the keyhole-  
But never had the fate to see a fly—  Ent. Lovel. 
Alive i'your cups, or once heard, drink mine host,  
Or such a cheerful chirping charm come from you.    

Act 1.  

Scene 2.  Lovet. Ferret. Host. 
What's that? what's that?  Fer. 
A buzzing of mine  
About a fly! a murmur that he has.  Host. 
Sir I am telling your Stote here, Monsieur Ferret, host  
For that I hear's his name) and dare tell you, Sir,  
If you have a mind to be melancholy, and musty,  
There's footman's Inn, at the town's end, the stocks,  
Or carrier's Place, at sign o'the broken Wain,  
Mansions of State! Take up your harbour there;  
There are both flies and fleas, and all variety  
Of vermin, for inspection, or dissection.  Lov. 
We ha' set our rest up here, Sir, i'your Heart.  Host. 
Sir set your heart at rest, you shall not do it:  
unless you can be jovial. Brain o'man,  
be jovial first, and drink, and dance, and drink.  
Your lodging here, and wi'your daily dumps,  
Is a mere libel gain' my house and me;  
And, then, your scandalous commons.  Lov. 
How mine host?  Host. 
Sir, they do scandal me, upo'the road, here  
A poor quotidian rack o'mutton, roasted,  
dry, to be grated! and that driven down  
With bear, and buttermilk, mingled together,  
Or clarified whey, instead of Claret!  
It is against my freehold, my inheritance,  
My Magna charta, Cour laetificat,  
To drink such balderdash, or bonny clabbee!  
Gi'me good wine, or catholic, or christian,  
Wine is the word, that glads the heart of man:  
And mine's the house of wine, Sack, says my bush,  
Be merry, and drink Sherry; that's my poesy!  
For I shall never joy i'my light heart,  
So long as I conceive a sullen guest,  
Or any thing that's earthy!  Lov. 
Humorous Host.  Host. 
I care not if I be.  Lov. 
But airy also,  
Not to defraud you of your rights, or trench  
upo' youryour privileges, or great charter,  
(For those are every ostler's language now)  
Say, you were borne beneath those smiling stars,  
Have made you Lord, and owner of the Heart,  
Of the Light Heart in Barnet; suffer us  
Who are more Saturnine, t'enjoy the shade  
Of your round roof yet.  Host. 
Sir I keep no shades  
Nor shelters, I: for either Owls or reremice.    

Act 1.  

Scene 3.  Ferret. Host. Lovel. 
He'll make you a bird of night, Sir.  Host. 
Bless you child,  
You'll make yourselves such.  Lov. 
'That your son mine host?  En. Fra. to his child o'the by the Host speaks Host. 
He's all the sons I have Sir.  Lov. 
Pretty boy!  
Goes he to school?  Fer. 
O Lord, Sir, he prates Latin  
And 'twere a parrot, or a play. boy.  Lov. 
Thou—  
commend'st him fitly.  Fer. 
To the pitch, he flies, Sir,  
he'll tell you what is Latin for a lookingglass,  
beard-brush, rubber, or quick-warming pan.  Lov. 
What's that?  Fer. 
a wench, i'the Inn-phrase, is all these; 
A lookingglass in her eye,  
A beard-brush with her lips,  
A rubber with her hand,  
And a warming pan with her hips.   Host. 
This, in your scurrile dialect. But my Inn  
knows no such language.  F. 
That's because, mine host,  
you do profess the teaching him yourself.  Host. 
Sir, I do teach him somewhat. By degrees,  
And with a funnel, I make shift to fill  
the narrow vessel, he is but yet, a bottle.  Lov 
O let him lose no time, though.  Hos. 
Sir, he does not.  Lov. 
And less his manners.  Hos. 
I provide for those, too.  
Come hither Frank, speak to the gentleman  
Latin: He is melancholy; say,  
I long to see him merry, and so would treat him.  Fra. 
Subtristis visu' es esse aliquantulùm patri,  
Qui qui lautè excipere, etiam ac tractare gestit.  Lov. 
Pulchro.  Host. 
Tell him, I fear it bodes us some ill luck,  
His too reservedness.  Fra. 
Veretur pater,  
Ne quid nobis mali ominis apportet iste  
Nimis praeclusus vultus.  Lov. 
Bellè. A fine child!  
You won't part with him, mine host?  H. 
Who told you  
would not?  Lov. 
I but ask you.  Hos. 
And I answer.  
To whom? for what?  Lov. 
To me, to be my Page.  Host. 
I know no mischief yet the child hath done,  
To deserve such a destiny.  Lov. 
Why?  Hos. 
Go down boy,  
And get your breakfast. Trust me, I had rather  
Take a fair halter, wash my hands, and hang him  
myself, make a clean riddance of him: then.  Lo. 
What?  Host. 
Then dam him to that desperate course of life.  Lov. 
Call you that desperate, which by a line  
Of institution, from our Ancestors,  
Hath been derived down to us, and received  
In a succession, for the noblest way  
Of breeding up our youth, in letters, arms,  
Fair mien, discourses, civil exercise,  
And all the blazon of a Gentleman?  
Where can he learn to vault, to ride, to fence,  
To move his body gracefuller? to speak  
His language purer? or to tune his mind,  
Or manners, more to the harmony of Nature  
Then, in these nurseries of nobility?—  Host. 
I that was, when the nursery's self, was noble  
And only virtue made it, not the market,  
That titles were not vented at the drum,  
Or common outcry; goodness gave the greatness,  
And greatness worship: Every house became  
An Academy of honour, and those parts—  
We see departed, in the practice, now,  
Quite from the institution.  Lov. 
Why do you say so?  
Or think so enviously? do they not still  
Learn there, the Centaur's skill, the art of Thrace,  
To ride? or Pollux mystery, to fence?  
The pyrrhic gestures, both to dance, and spring  
In armour, to be active for the Wars?  
To study figures, numbers, and proportions,  
May yield 'em great in counsels, and the arts  
Grave Nestor, and the wise Ulysses practised?  
To make their English sweet upon their tongue!  
As reverend Chaucer says?  Host. 
Sir you mistake,  
To play Sir Pandarus my copy hath it,  
And carry messages to Madam Cressid.  
instead of backing the brave Steed, o'mornings,  
To mount the Chambermaid; and for a leap  
O'the vaulting horse, to ply the vaulting house:  
For exercise of arms, a bale of dice,  
Or two or three packs of cards, to show the cheat,  
And nimbleness of hand: mistake a cloak  
From my Lords back, and pawn it. Ease his pockets  
Of a superfluous Watch, or geld a jewel  
Of an odd stone, or so. Twinge three or four buttons  
From off my Lady's gown. These are the arts,  
Or seven liberal deadly sciences  
Of Pagery, or rather Paganism,  
As the tides run. To which, if he apply him,  
He may, perhaps, take a degree at Tyburn,  
A year the earlier: come to read a lecture  
Upon Aquinas at S. Thomas a Waterings,  
And so go forth a Laureate in hemp circle!  Lov. 
Yo'are tart, mine host, and talk above your seasoning,  
o'er what you seem: it should not come, methinks,  
Under your cap, this vein of salt, and sharpness!  
These strikings upon learning, now and then?  
How long have you, (if your dull guest may ask it,)  
Drove this quick trade, of keeping the light-heart,  
Your Mansion, Palace here, or Hostelry.  Host. 
Troth, I was borne to somewhat, Sir, above it.  Lov. 
I easily suspect that: Mine host, your name.  Hos. 
They call me Good-stock.  Lov. 
Sir, and you confess it,  
Both i'your language, treaty, and your bearing.  Hos. 
Yet all, Sir, are not sons o'the white Hen;  
Nor can we, as the Songster says, come all  
To be wrapped soft and warm in fortune's smock:  
When she is pleased to trick, or trump mankind:  
Some may be Coats, as in the cards; but, than  
Some must be knaves, some varlets, bawds, and ostlers,  
As aces, deuces, cards o'ten, to face it  
Out, i'the game, which all the world is.  Lov. 
But,  
It being i'your free will (as 'twas) to choose  
What parts you would sustain, methinks, a man  
Of your sagacity, and clear nostril, should  
Have made, another choice, then of a place  
So sordid, as the keeping of an Inn:  
Where every jovial Tinker, for his chink,  
May cry, mine host, to cram, give us drink;  
And do not slink, but skinke, or else you stink.  
Rogue, bawd, and Cheater, call you by the surnames,  
And known Synonyma of your profession.  Hos. 
But if I be no such; who then's the Rogue,  
In understanding, Sir, I mean? who errs?  
Who tinkleth then? or personates Thom. Tinker?  
Your weasel here may tell you I talk bawdy,  
And teach my boy it; and you may believe him:  
But Sir at your own peril, if I do not:  
And at his too, if he do lie, and affirm it.  
No slander strikes, less hurts, the innocent:  
If I be honest, and that all the cheat  
Be, of myself, in keeping this Light Heart,  
Where, I imagine all the world's a Play;  
The state, and men's affairs, all passages  
Of life, to spring new, scenes come in, go out,  
And shift, and vanish; and if I have got  
A seat, to sit at ease here, i'mine Inn,  
To see the Comedy; and laugh, and chuck  
At the variety, and throng of humours,  
And dispositions, that come justling in,  
And out still, as they one drove hence another:  
Why, will you envy me my happiness?  
Because you are sad, and lumpish; carry a Load stone  
I'your pocket, to hang knives on; or let-rings,  
T'entice light straws to leap at 'em: are not taken  
With the alacrities of an host! 'Tis more,  
And justlier, Sir, my wonder, why you took  
My house up, fiddler's Hall, the Seat of noise,  
And mirth, an Inn here, to be drowsy in,  
And lodge your lethargy in the Light Heart,  
As if some cloud from Court had been your Harbinger,  
Or Cheapside debt-books, or some Mistress charge,  
Seeing your love grow corpulent, gi' it a diet,  
By absence some, such mouldy passion!  Lo. 
'Tis guessed unhappily.  Fe. 
Mine host, yo'are called.  H. 
I come, boys.  L. 
Ferret have not you been ploughing  
With this mad Ox, mine host? nor he with you?  Fer. 
For what Sir?  Lov. 
Why, to find my riddle out.  Fer. 
I hope, you do believe, Sir, I can find  
Other discourse to be at, than my Master  
With Hosts, and Hostlers.  Lou. 
If you can, 'tis well.  
Go down, and see, who they are come in, what guests;  
And bring me word.    

Act. 1.  

Scene 4.  Lovel. 
O love, what passion art thou!  
So tyrannous! and treacherous! first t'enslave,  
And then betray, all that in truth do serve thee!  
That not the wisest, nor the wariest creature,  
Can more dissemble thee, than he can bear  
Hot burning coals, in his bare palm, or bosom!  
And less, conceal, or hide thee, than a flash  
Of inflamed powder, whose whole light doth lay it  
Open, to all discovery, even of those,  
Who have but half an eye, and less of nose!  
An Host, to find me! who is, commonly,  
The log, a little o' this side the signpost!  
Or, at the best, some round grown thing! a jug,  
Faced, with a beard, that fills out to the guests,  
And takes in, fro' the fragments o'their jests?  
But, I may wrong this, out of sullenness,  
Or my mistaking humour? Pray thee, fantasy,  
Be laid, again. And, gentle-Melancholy,  
Do not oppress me. I will be as silent,  
As the tame lover should be, and as foolish.    

Act 1.  

Scene. 5.  Host. Ferret. Lovel. 
My Guest, my Guest, be jovial, I beseech thee.  
I have fresh golden guests, guests o'the game:  
Three coachful! Lords! and Ladies! new come in.  
And I will cry them to thee, and thee, to them,  
So I can spring a smile, but this brow,  
That like the rugged Roman Alderman,—  
Old master Gross, surnamed {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}.  Ent. Ferret. 
Was never seen to laugh, but at an Ass.  Fer. 
Sir here's the Lady Frampul.  Lou. 
How!  Fer. 
And her train.  
Lord Beaufort, & Lord Latimer, the colonel  
Tipto', with Mistress Cis, the Chambermaid:  
Trundle, the Coachman—  Lou. 
Stop, discharge the house:  
And get my horses ready, bid the Groom  
Bring 'em to the back gate.  Hos. 
What mean you Sir?  Lou. 
To take fair leave, mine Host.  Hos. 
I hope, my Guest,  
Though I have talked somewhat above my share,  
At large, and been i'the altitudes, th'extravagant,  
Neither myself, nor any of mine have gi'n you  
The cause, to quit my house, thus, on the sudden,  Lou. 
No, I affirm it, on my faith. Excuse me,  
From such a rudeness; I was now beginning  
To taste, and love you: and am heartily sorry,  
Any occasion should be so compelling,  
To urge my abrupt departure, thus. But—  
Necessity's a Tyrant, and commands it.  Hos. 
She shall command me first to fire my bush;  
Then break up house: Or, if that will not serve,  
To break with all the world. Turn country bankrupt.  
I' mine own town, upo' the market-day,  
And be protested, for my butter, and eggs,  
To the last bodge of oats, and bottle of hay;  
Ere you shall leave me, I will break my heart:  
Coach, and Coach-horses, Lords, and ladies' pack?  
All my fresh guests shall stink! I'll pull my sign, down  
Convert mine Inn, to an Almshouse! or a Spittle,  
For lazars, or switch-sellers! Turn it, to  
An Academy o'rogues! or gi'it away  
For a free-school, to breed up beggars in,  
And send 'em to the canting Universities  
Before you leave me.  Lov. 
Troth, and I confess,  
I am loath, mine host, to leave you: your expressions  
Both take, and hold me. But, in case I stay,  
I must enjoin you and your whole family  
To privacy, and to conceal me. For,  
The secret is, I would not willingly,  
See, or be seen, to any of this ging,  
Especially, the Lady.  Hos. 
Brain o'man,  
What monster is she? or Cockatrice in velvet,  
That kills thus?  Lov. 
O good words, mine host. She is  
A noble Lady! great in blood! and fortune!  
Fair! and a wit! but of so bent a fantasy,  
As she thinks nought a happiness, but to have  
A multitude of servants! and, to get them,  
(Though she be very honest) yet she venters  
Upon these precipices, that would make her  
Not seem so, to some prying, narrow natures.  
We call her, Sir, the Lady Frances Frampul,  
Daughter and heir to the Lord Frampul.  Hos. 
Who?  
He that did love in Oxford, first, a student,  
And, after, married with the daughter of—  Lo. 
Silly.  Hos. 
Right, of whom the tale went, to turn Puppet-mr.  Lov. 
And travel with Young Goose, the Motion-man.  Hos. 
And lie, and live with the Gipsies half a year  
Together, from his wife.  Lo. 
The very same:  
The mad Lord Frampul! And this same is his daughter!  
But as cock-brained as ere the father was!  
There were two of 'em, Frances and Laetitiae;  
But Laetice was lost young; and, as the rumor  
Flew then, the mother upon it lost herself.  
A fond weak woman, went away in a melancholy,  
Because she brought him none but girls, she thought  
Her husband loved her not. And he, as foolish,  
Too late resenting the cause given, went after;  
In quest of her, and was not heard of since.  Hos. 
A strange division of a family!  Lov. 
And scattered, as i'the great confusion!  Hos. 
But yet the Lady, th'heir, enjoys the land.  Lov. 
And takes all lordly ways how to consume it  
As nobly as she can; if clothes, and feasting,  
And the authorised means of riot will do it.  Ent. Fer. Host. 
She shows her extract, and I honour her for it.    

Act. 1.  

Scene. 6  Ferret. Lovel. Host. Cicelie. 
Your horse's Sir are ready; and the house  
Dis-  Lou. 
Pleased, thou thinkst?  Fer. 
I cannot tell, discharged  
I'm sure it is.  Lou. 
Charge it again, good Ferret.  
And make unready the horses: Thou know'st how.  
Chalk, and renew the rondels. I am, now  
Resolved to stay.  Fer. 
I easily thought so,  
When you should hear what's purposed.  L. 
What?  Fer. 
To throw  
The house out o'the windo?  Host. 
Brain o'man,  
I shall ha'the worst of'at! will they not throw  
My household stuff out, first? Cushions, and Carpets,  
Chairs, stools, & bedding? is not their sport my ruin?  Lov. 
Fear not, mine host, I am not o'the fellowship.  Fer. 
I cannot see, Sir, how you will avoid it;  
They know already all, you are i'the house.  Lov. 
Who know?  F. 
The Lords: they have seen me, & enquired it.  Lov. 
Why were you seen?  Fer 
Because indeed I had  
No medicine, Sir, to go invisible:  
No fern-seed in my pocket; Nor an Opal  
Wrapped in a Bay-leaf, i'my left fist,  
To charm their eyes with.  H. 
He does give you reasons  
As round as Gyges' ring: which, say the Ancients,  
Was a hoop ring; and that is, round as a hoop!  Lov. 
You will ha'your Rebus still, mine host.  Hos. 
I must:  Fer. 
My Lady, too, looked out o'the windo, & called me.  
And see where Secretary  Pru. 
comes from her,  Ent. Pru. 
Employed upon some embassy unto you—  Host. 
I'll meet her, if she come upon employment;  
Fair Lady, welcome, as your host can make you.  Pru. 
Forbear, Sir, I am first to have mine audience,  
Before the compliment. This gentleman  
Is my address to.  Host. 
And it is in state.  Pru. 
My Lady, Sir, as glad o'the encounter  
To find a servant, here, and such a servant,  
Whom she so values; with her best respects,  
Desires to be remembered: and invites  
Your nobleness, to be a part, today,  
Of the society, and mirth intended  
By her, and the young Lords, your fellow-servants.  
Who are alike ambitious of enjoying  
The fair request; and to that end have sent  
Me, their imperfect Orator, to obtain it:  
Which if I may, they have elected me,  
And crowned me, with the title of a sovereign  
Of the day's sports devised i'the Inn,  
So you be pleased to add your suffrage to it.  Lov. 
So I be pleased, my gentle mistress Prudence?  
You cannot think me of that course condition,  
T'envy you any thing.  Host. 
That's nobly said!  
And like my guest!  Lov. 
I gratulate your honour;  
And should, with cheer, lay hold on any handle,  
That could advance it. But for me to think,  
I can be any rag, or particle  
O'your Lady's care, more than to fill her list,  
She being the Lady, that professeth still  
To love no soul, or body, but for ends;  
Which are her sports: And is not nice to speak this,  
But doth proclaim it, in all companies:  
Her Ladyship must pardon my weak counsels,  
And weaker will, if it decline t'obey her.  Pru. 
O master Lovel you must not give credit  
To all that Ladies publicly profess,  
Or talk, o'th' vollee, unto their servants.  
Their tongues and thoughts, oft times lie far asunder.  
Yet, when they please, they have their cabinet-counsels  
And reserved thoughts, and can retire themselves  
As well as others.  Host. 
ay, the subtlest of us!  
All that is borne within a lady's lips—  Pru. 
Is not the issue of their hearts, mine host.  Hos. 
Or kiss, or drink afore me.  Pru. 
Stay, excuse me;  
Mine errand is not done. Yet, if her Ladyships  
Slighting, or disesteem, Sir, of your service,  
Hath formerly begot any distaste,  
Which I not know of: here, I vow unto you,  
Upon a Chambermaid's simplicity,  
Reserving, still, the honour of my Lady,  
I will be bold to hold the glass up to her,  
To show her Ladyship where she hath erred,  
And how to tender satisfaction:  
So you vouchsafe to prove, but the day's venture.  Ho. 
What say you, Sir? where are you? are you within?  Lov. 
Yes: I will wait upon her, and the company.  Hos. 
It is enough, Queen Prudence; I will bring him:  
And, of'is kiss. I longed to kiss a Queen!  Lov. 
There is no life on earth, but being in love!  
There are no studies, no delights, no business,  
No intercourse, or trade of sense, or soul,  
But what is love! I was the laziest creature,  
The most unprofitable sign of nothing,  
The veriest drone, and slept away my life  
Beyond the Dormouse, till I was in love!  
And, now, I can out-wake the Nightingale,  
Outwatch an usurer, and outwalk him too,  
Stalk like a ghost, that haunted 'bout a treasure,  
And all that fancied treasure, it is love!  Host. 
But is your name Love-ill, Sir, or Lovewell?  
I would know that.  Lov. 
I do not know't myself,  
Whether it is. But it is Love hath been  
The hereditary passion of our house,  
My gentle host, and, as I guess, my friend;  
The truth is, I have loved this Lady long,  
And impotently, with desire enough,  
But no success: for I have still forborn  
To express it, in my person, to her.  Hos. 
How then?  Lov. 
I ha' sent her toys, verses, and anagrams,  
Trials o' wit, mere trifles she has commended,  
But knew not whence they came, nor could she guess.  Host. 
This was a pretty riddling way of wooing!  Lov. 
I oft have been, too, in her company;  
And looked upon her, a whole day; admired her;  
Loved her, and did not tell her so; loved still,  
Looked still, and loved: and loved, and looked, and sighed;  
But, as a man neglected, I came of,  
And unregarded—  Host. 
Could you blame her, Sir,  
When you were silent, and not said a word?  Lov. 
O but I loved the more; and she might read it  
Best, in my silence, had she been—  Host. 
As melancholic  
As you are. Pray you, why would you stand mute, Sir?  Lov. 
O thereon hangs a history, mine host.  
Did you ever know, or hear, of the Lord Beaufort,  
Who served so bravely in France? I was his page,  
And, ere he died, his friend! I followed him,  
First, i'the wars; and i'the times of peace,  
I waited on his studies: which were right.  
He had no Arthur's, nor no Rosicleer's,  
No Knights o'the Sun, nor Amadis de Gaule's,  
Primaleon's, and Pantagruel's, public Nothings;  
Abortives of the fabulous, dark cloister,  
Sent out to poison courts, and infest manners:  
But great Achilles, Agamemnon's acts,  
Sage Nestor's counsels, and Ulysses' slights,  
Tydides' fortitude, as Homer wrought them  
In his immortal fantasy, for examples  
Of the Heroic virtue. Or, as Virgil,  
That master of the Epic poem, limned  
Pious Aeneas, his religious Prince,  
Bearing his aged Parent on his shoulders,  
Rapt from the flames of Troy, with his young son.  
And these he brought to practise, and to use.  
He gave me first my breeding, I acknowledge,  
Then showered his bounties on me, like the Hours,  
That openhanded sit upon the Clouds,  
And press the liberality of heaven  
Down to the laps of thankful men! But then!  
The trust committed to me, at his death,  
Was above all! and left so strong a tie  
On all my powers! as time shall not dissolve!  
Till it dissolve itself, and bury all!  
The care of his brave heir, and only son!  
Who being a virtuous, sweet, young, hopeful Lord,  
Hath cast his first affections on this Lady.  
And though I know, and may presume her such,  
As, out of humour, will return no love;  
And therefore might indifferently be made  
The courting-stock, for all to practise on.  
As she doth practise on all us, to scorn:  
Yet, out of a religion to my charge,  
And debt professed, I ha' made a self-decree,  
ne'er to express my person; though my passion  
Burn me to cinders.  Host. 
Then yo'are not so subtle,  
Or half so read in love-craft, as I took you.  
Come, come, you are no Phoenix, an' you were,  
I should expect no miracle from your ashes.  
Take some advice. Be still that rag of love,  
You are. Burn on till you turn tinder.  
This Chambermaid may hap to prove the steel,  
To strike a sparkle out o'the flint, your mistress  
May beget bonfires yet, you do not know,  
What light may be forced out, and from what darkness.  Lov. 
Nay, I am so resolved, as still I'll love  
Tho' not confess it.  Host. 
That's, Sir, as it chances:  
we'll throw the dice for it: Cheer up.  Lov. 
I do.    

Act 2.  

Scene 1.  Lady. Prudence. 
Come wench, this suit will serve: dispatch, make ready.  
It was a great deal with the biggest for me;  
Which made me leave it off after once wearing.  
How does it fit? willt come together?  Pru. 
hardly.  Lad. 
Thou must make shift with it. Pride feels no pain.  
Girt thee hard,  Pru. 
Pox o' this errand Taylour,  
He angers me beyond all mark of patience.  
These base Mechanics never keep their word,  
In any thing they promise. Pru. 'Tis their trade, madam;  
To swear and break, they all grow rich by breaking,  
More than their words; their honesties, and credits,  
Are still the first commodity they put off.  Lad. 
And worst, it seems, which makes them do't so often.  
If he had but broke with me, I had not cared,  
But, with the company, the body politic-  Pru. 
Frustrate our whole design, having that time,  
And the materials in so long before?  Lad. 
And he to fail in all, and disappoint us?  
The rogue deserves a torture-  Pru. 
To be cropped  
With his own Scissors.  Lad. 
Let's devise him one.  Pru. 
And ha' the stumps seared up with his own searing candle?  Lad. 
Close to his head, to trundle on his pillow?  
I'll ha' the Lease of his house cut out in measures.  Pru. 
And he be strangled with 'em?  Lad. 
No, no life  
I would ha' touched, but stretched on his own yard  
He should be a little, ha' the strappado?  Pru. 
Or an ell of taffeta  
Drawn thorough his guts, by way of glister, & fired  
With aqua vitae?  Lad. 
Burning i'the hand  
With the pressing iron cannot save him.  Pru. 
Yes,  
Now I have got this on: I do forgive him,  
What robes he should ha' brought.  Lad. 
Thou art not cruel,  
Although straitlaced, I see, Pru!  Pru. 
This is well.  Lad. 
'Tis rich enough! But 'tis not what I meant thee!  
I would ha' had thee braver than myself,  
And brighter far. 'Twill fit the Players yet,  
When thou hast done with it, and yield thee somewhat.  Pru. 
That were illiberal, madam, and mere sordid  
In me, to let a suit of yours come there.  Lad. 
Tut, all are Players, and but serve the Scene. Pru,  
Dispatch; I fear thou dost not like the province,  
Thou art so long a fitting thyself for it.  
Here is a Scarf, to make thee a knot finer.  Pr. 
You send me a feasting, madame.  La. 
Wear it wench  Pru. 
Yes. but, with leave o'your Ladyship, I would tell you  
This can but bear the face of an odd journey.  Lad. 
Why Pru?  Pru. 
A Lady of your rank and quality,  
To come to a public Inn, so many men,  
Young Lords, and others, i'your company!  
And not a woman but myself, a Chambermaid!  Lad. 
Thou doubt'st to be overlaid Pru? Fear it not,  
I le bear my part, and share with thee, i'the venture.  Pru. 
O but the censure, madame, is the main,  
What will they say of you? or judge of me?  
To be translated thus, 'bove all the bound  
Of fitness, or decorum?  Lad. 
How, now! Pru!  
Turned fool upo'the sudden, and talk idly  
I'thy best clothes! shoot bolts, and sentences  
T'affright babies with? as if I lived  
To any other scale than what's my own?  
Or sought myself, without myself, from home?  Pru. 
Your Ladyship will pardon me, my fault,  
If I have overshot, I'll shoot no more.  Lad. 
Yes shoot again, good Pru, I'll ha' thee shoot,  
And aim, and hit: I know 'tis love in thee,  
And so I do interpret it.  Pru. 
Then madame,  
I'd crave a farther leave.  Lad. 
Be it to licence,  
It sha'not want an ear, Pru, Say, what is it?  Pru. 
A toy I have, to raise a little mirth,  
To the design in hand.  Lad. 
Out with it Pru.  
If it but chime of mirth.  Pru. 
Mine host has, madame,  
A pretty boy i'the house, a dainty child,  
His son, and is o'your ladyship's name too, Frances,  
Whom if your Ladyship would borrow of him,  
And give me leave to dress him, as I would,  
Should make the finest Lady, and kinswoman,  
To keep you company, and deceive my Lords,  
upo'the matter, with a fountain o'sport.  Lad. 
I apprehend thee, and the source of mirth  
That it may breed, but is he bold enough,  
The child? and well assured?  Pru. 
As I am, madame,  
Have him in no suspicion, more than me:  
Here comes mine host: will you but please to ask him,  
Or let me make the motion?  Lad. 
Which thou wilt, Pru.    

Act 2.  

Scene 2.  Host. Lady. Prudence. Frank. 
Your Ladyship, and all your train are welcome.  Lad. 
I thank my hearty host.  Host. 
So is your sovereignty,  
madam, I wish you joy o'your new gown.  Lad. 
It should ha' been, my host, but Stuff, our tailor  
Has broke with us, you shall be o'the counsel.  Pru. 
He will deserve it, madame, my Lady has heard  
You have a pretty son, mine host, she'd see him.  Lad. 
I very fain, I pray thee let me see him, host.  Host. 
Your Ladyship shall presently,  
Bid Frank come hither, anon, unto my Lady,  
It is a bashful child, homely brought up,  
In a rude hostelry. But the light Heart  
Is his fathers, and it may be his.  
Here he comes. Frank salute my Lady.  Fra. 
I do.  
What, madame, I am designed to do, by my birth right,  
As heir of the light Heart, bid you most welcome.  Lad. 
And I believe your most, my pretty boy,  
Being so emphased, by you.  Fra. 
Your Ladyship,  
If you believe it such, are sure to make it.  Lad. 
Prettily answered! Is your name Francis?  Fra. 
Yes madame.  Lad. 
I love mine own the better.  Fra. 
If I knew yours,  
I should make haste to do so too, good madame.  Lad. 
It is the same with yours.  F. 
Mine then acknowledgeth  
The lustre it receives, by being named, after.  Lad. 
You will win upon me in compliment.  Fra. 
By silence.  Lad. 
A modest, and a fair well spoken-child.  Hos. 
Her Ladyship, shall have him, sovereign Pru,  
Or what I have beside: divide my heart,  
Between you and your Lady. Make your use of it:  
My house is yours, my son is yours. Behold,  
I tender him to your service; Frank, become  
What these brave Ladies would ha' you. Only this,  
There is a charwoman i'the house, his nurse,  
An Irish woman, I took in, a beggar,  
That waits upon him; a poor silly fool,  
But an impertinent, and sedulous one,  
As ever was: will vex you on all occasions,  
Never be off, or from you, but in her sleep;  
Or drink which makes it. She doth love him so,  
Or rather dote on him. Now, for her, a shape,  
As we may dress her (and I'll help) to fit her,  
With a tuft-taffata cloak, an old French hood,  
And other pieces, heterogene enough.  Pru. 
We ha' brought a standard of apparel, down,  
Because this tailor failed us i'the main.  Hos. 
She shall advance the game.  Pru. 
About it then.  
And send but Trundle, hither, the coachman, to me.  Hos. 
I shall: But Pru, let Lovel ha' fair quarter.  Pru. 
The best.  Lad. 
Our Host( methinks) is very game some!  Pru. 
How like you the boy?  Lad. 
A miracle!  Pru. 
Good madam  
But take him in, and sort a suit for him,  
we give our Trundle his instructions;  
And wait upon your Ladyship, i'the instant.  Lad. 
But Pru, what shall we call him, when we ha' dressed him?  Pr. 
My lady-nobody, Any thing what you will.  Lad. 
Call him Laetitia, by my sister's name,  
And so 'twill mind our mirth too, we have in hand.    

Act 2.  

Scene. 3.  Prudence. Trundle. 
Good Trundle, you must straight make ready the Coach,  
And lead the horses out but half a mile,  
Into the fields, whether you will, and then  
Drive in again, with the Coach-leaves put down,  
At the back gate, and so to the back stairs,  
As if you brought in somebody, to my Lady,  
A Kinswoman, that she sent for, Make that answer  
If you be asked; and give it out i'the house, so.  Tru. 
What trick is this, good Mistress Secretary,  
you'd put upon us?  Pru. 
Us? Do you speak plural?  Tru. 
Me and my Mares are us.  Pru. 
If you so join 'em.  
Elegant Trundle, you may use your figures.  
I can but urge, it is my Lady's service.  Tru. 
Good Mistress Prudence, you can urge enough.  
I know you are Secretary to my Lady,  
And Mistress Steward.  Pru. 
You'll still be trundling,  
And ha' your wages stopped, now at the Audite.  Tru. 
'tis true, you are Gentlewoman o'the horse too.  
Or what you will beside, Pru, I do think it:  
My best to obey you.  Pru. 
And I think so too, Trundle.    

Act. 2.  

Scene. 4.  Beaufort. Latimer. Host. 
Why here's return enough of both our venters,  
If we do make no more discovery.  Lat. 
what?  
Then o' this Parasite?  Bea. 
O he's a dainty one.  
The Parasite o' the house.  Lat. 
here comes mine host.  Hos. 
My Lords, you both are welcome to the Heart.  Bea. 
To the light heart we hope.  Lat. 
And merry I swear.  
We never yet felt such a fit of laughter,  
As your glad heart hath offered us, sin' we entered.  Bea. 
How came you by this property?  Hos. 
who! my Fly!  Bea. 
Your Fly if you call him so.  Hos. 
nay, he is that.  
And will be still.  Beau. 
In every dish and pot?  Hos. 
In every Cup, and company, my Lords,  
A Creature of all liquours, all complexions,  
Be the drink what it will, he'll have his sip.  Lat. 
He's fitted with a name.  Hos. 
And he joys in't:  
I had him when I came to take the Inn, here,  
Assigned me over, in the Inventory,  
As an old implement, a piece of householdstuff,  
And so he doth remain.  Bea. 
just such a thing,  
We thought him,  Lat. 
Is he a scholar?  Hos. 
Nothing less.  
But colours for it, as you see: wears black;  
And speaks a little tainted, fly-blown Latin,  
After the School.  Bea. 
Of Stratford o' the Bow.  
For Lilies Latin, is to him unknown.  Lat. 
What calling 'he?  Hos. 
Only to call in, still.  
Inflame the reckoning, bold to charge a bill,  
Bring up the shot i'the rear, as his own word is,  Bea. 
And does it in the discipline of the house?  
As Corporal o' the field, Maestro del Campo,  Hos. 
And visitor general, of all the room,  
He has formed a fine militia for the Inn too.  Bea. 
And means to publish it?  Hos. 
With all his titles.  
Some call him Deacon Fly, some Doctor Fly.  
Some Captain, some Lieutenant, But my folks  
Do call him Quartermaster, Fly, which he is.    

Act. 2.  

Scene. 5.  Tipto. Host. Flie. L. Bea. L. Lati. 
Come Quartermaster Fly.  Hos. 
Here's one, already,  
Hath got his Titles.  Tip. 
Doctor!  Fly. 
Noble Colonel!  
No Doctor, yet. A poor professor of ceremony,  
Here i'the Inn, retainer to the host,  
I discipline the house.  Tip. 
Thou readest a lecture.  
Unto the family here, when is the day?  Fli. 
This is the day.  Tip. 
I'll hear thee, and I'll ha'thee a Doctor,  
Thou shalt be one, thou hast a doctor's look!  
A face disputative, of Salamanca.  Hos. 
Who's this?  Lat. 
The glorious Colonel Tipto, Host,  Bea. 
One talks upon his tiptoes, if you'll hear him.  Tip. 
Thou hast good learning in thee, macte Fly.  Fly. 
And I say macte, to my Colonel.  Host. 
Well macted of'em both.  Bea. 
They are matched i'faith.  Tip. 
But Fly, why macte?  Fly. 
Quasi magis ancte,  
My honourable Colonel.  Tip. 
What a critic?  Host. 
There's another accession, critic Fly.  Lat. 
I fear a taint here i'the Mathematics.  
They say, lines parallel do never meet;  
He has met his parallel in wit, and school-craft.  Bea. 
They side, not meet man, mend your metaphor,  
And save the credit of your Mathematics.  Tip. 
But Fly, how cam'st thou to be here, committed  
Unto this Inn? Fly, Upon suspicion o'drink, Sir,  
I was taken late one night, here, with the Tapster,  
And the under-officers, and so deposited.  Tip. 
I will redeem thee, Fly, and place thee better,  
With a fair Lady.  Fly. 
A Lady, sweet Sir Glorious!  Tip. 
A Sovereign Lady. Thou shalt be the Bird  
To Sovereign Pru, Queen of our sports, her Fly,  
The Fly in household, and in ordinary;  
Bird of her care, and she shall wear thee there!  
A Fly of gold, enamelled, and a school-fly.  Host. 
The school, then are my stables, or the cellar,  
Where he doth study, deeply, at his hours,  
Cases of cups, I do not know how spiced  
With conscience, for the Tapster, and the ostler: as  
Whose horses may be cozened? or what jugs  
filled up with froth? that is his way of learning,  Tip. 
What antiquated Father's that, that talks?  Fly. 
The worshipful host, my patron, Mr. Good-stock:  
A merry Greek, and cants in Latin, comely.  
Spins like the parish top.  Tip. 
I'll set him up, then.  
Art thou the Dominus?  Host. 
Factotum here, Sir.  Tip. 
Host real o'the house? and Cap of Maintenance?  Host. 
The Lord o'the light Heart, Sir, Cap a pie;  
Whereof the Feather is the Emblem, Colonel,  
Put up, with the Ace of Hearts!  Tip. 
But why in Cuerpo?  
I hate to see an host, and old, in Cuerpo.  Host. 
Cuerpo? what's that?  Tip. 
Light, skipping hose and doublet,  
The horse boys garb! poor blank, and half blank Cuerpo,  
They relish not the gravity of an host,  
Who should be King at Arms, and ceremonies,  
In his own house! know all, to the goldweights.  Bea. 
Why that his Fly doth for him here, your Bird.  Tip. 
But I would do it myself, were I my Host,  
I would not speak unto a Cook of quality,  
Your Lordship's footman, or my Lady's Trundle,  
In Cuerpo! If a Dog but stayed below  
That were a dog of fashion, and well nosed,  
And could present himself; I would put on  
The Savoy chain about my neck; the ruff;  
And cuffs of Flanders; then the Naples hat;  
With the Rome hatband; and the Florentine Agate;  
The Milan sword; the cloak of Genoa; set  
With Brabant buttons; all my given pieces:  
Except my gloves, the natives of Madrid,  
To entertain him in! and compliment  
With a tame coney, as with a Prince that sent it.  Hos. 
The same deeds, though, become not every man,  
That fits a Colonel, will not fit an host,  Tip. 
Your Spanish host is never seen in Cuerpo,  
Without his Paramento's cloak, & sword.  Fli. 
Sir he has the father  
Of swords, within a long sword; Blade cornish styled  
Of Sir Rud Hughdibras.  Tip. 
And with a long sword, bully bird? thy sense?  Fli. 
To note him a tall-man, and a Master offence:  Tip. 
But doth he teach the Spanish way of Don Lewis?  Fli. 
No, the Greek Master he.  Tip. 
what call you him?  Fli. 
Euclid.  Tip. 
Fart upon Euclid, he is stale, & antique,  
Gi'me the moderns.  Fli. 
Sir he minds no moderns,  
Go by, Hieronymo!  Tip. 
What was he?  Fli. 
The Italian,  
That played with Abbot Antony, i'the Friars,  
And Blinkin-sops the bold.  Tip. 
I marry, those,  
Had fencing names, what's become o'them?  Hos. 
They had their times, and we can say, they were  
So had Caranza-his: so had Don Lewis.  Tip. 
Don Lewis of Madrid, is the sole Master  
Now, of the world.  Hos. 
But this, o' the other world  
Euclid demonstrates! he! he's for all!  
The only fencer of name, now in Elysium.  Fli. 
He does it all, by lines, and angles, Colonel.  
By parallels, and sections, has his diagrams!  Bea. 
Wilt thou be flying, Fly?  Lat. 
At all, why not?  
The air's as free for a fly, as for an Eagle.  Bea 
A Buzzard! he is in his contemplation!  Tip. 
Euclid a fencer, and in the Elysium!  Hos. 
He played a prize, last week, with Archimedes,  
And beat him I assure you.  Tip. 
Do you assure me?  
For what?  Hos. 
For four i'the hundred. Gi'me five,  
And I assure you, again.  Tip. 
Host, Peremptory,  
You may be ta'en, But where? whence had you this?  Hos. 
upo' the road, A post, that came from thence,  
Three days ago, here, left it with the Tapster.  Fli. 
Who is indeed a thorough fare of news,  
jack jug with the broken belly, a witty fellow!  Hos. 
Your Bird here heard him.  Tip. 
Did you hear him Bird?  Hos. 
Speak i'the faith of a fly.  Fli. 
Yes, and he told us,  
Of one that was the Prince of Orange's fencer,  Tip. 
Stevinus?  Fli. 
Sir the same, had challenged Euclid  
A thirty weapons more than Archimedes  
e'er saw; and engines: most of his own Invention:  Tip. 
This may have credit, and chimes reason, this!  
If any man endanger Euclid, Bird,  
Observe, that had the honour to quit Europe  
This forty year, 'tis he. He put down Scaliger.  Fli. 
And he was a great Master.  Bea. 
Not of fence, Fly.  Tip. 
Excuse him, Lord, he went o' the same grounds.  Bea. 
On the same earth I think, with other Mortals?  Tip. 
I mean, sweet Lord, the Mathematics. Basta!  
When thou know'st more, thou wilt take less, green honour.  
He had his circles, semicircles, quadrants—  Fli. 
He writ a book o' the quadrature o' the Circle,  Tip. 
Cyclometria, I read—  Bea. 
The title only.  Lat. 
And Indice.  Bea. 
If it had one of that quare  
What insolent, half-witted things, these are?  Lat. 
So are all smatterers, insolent, and impudent.  Bea. 
They lightly go together.  Lat. 
'tis my wonder!  
Two animals should hawk at all discourse thus!  
Fly every subject to the Mark, or retrieve—  Bea. 
And never ha' the luck to be i'the right!  Lat. 
'tis foam folks' fortune!  Bea. 
Fortune's a Bawd  
And a blind Beggar: 'tis their vanity!  
And shows most vilely!  Tip. 
I could take the heart now.  
To write unto Don Lewis, into Spain,  
To make a progress to the Elysian fields,  
Next summer—  Bea. 
And persuade him die for same,  
Of fencing with a shadow! Where's mine Host?  
I would he had heard this bubble break, i'fayth.    

Act. 2.  

Scene 6.  Host. Tipto. Prudence. Beaufort. Latimer. Frank. Nurse. Lady. Flie. Lovel. 
Make place, stand by, for the Queen Regent, Gentlemen.  Tip. 
This is thy Queen, that shallbe, Bird, our Sovereign.  Bea. 
Translated Prudence!  Pru. 
Sweet my Lord, hand off;  
It is not now, as when plain Prudence lived,  
And reached her Ladyship—  Host. 
The Chamber-pot.  Pru. 
The lookingglass, mine Host, lose your house Metaphor  
You have a negligent memory, indeed;  
Speak the host's language. Here's a young Lord,  
Will make't a precedent else.  Lat. 
Well acted Pru.  Host. 
First minute of her reign! what will she do  
Forty year hence? God bless her!  Pru. 
If you'll kiss,  
Or compliment, my Lord, behold a Lady,  
A stranger, and my Lady's kinswoman.  Bea. 
I do confess my rudeness, that had need  
To have mine eye directed to this beauty.  Fra. 
It was so little, as it asked a perspicil.  Bea. 
Lady, your name?  Fra. 
My Lord, it is Laetitia.  Bea. 
Laetitia! a fair omen! And I take it.  
Let me have still such lettuce for my lips:  
But that o' your family, Lady?  Fra. 
Silly, Sir.  Bea. 
My Lady's kinswoman?  Fra. 
I am so honoured.  Host. 
Already, it takes!  Lad. 
An excellent fine boy.  Nur. 
He is descended of a right good stock, Sir.  Bea. 
What's this? an Antiquary?  Host. 
An Antiquity,  
By th' dress, you'd swear! An old Welsh Herald's widow:  
She's a wild-Irish borne! Sir, and a hybrid,  
That lives with this young Lady, a mile off here,  
And studies Vincent against York.  Bea. 
She'll conquer,  
If she read Vincent. Let me study her.  Host. 
She's perfect in most pedigrees, most descents.  Bea. 
A bawd, I hope, and knows to blaze a coat.  Host. 
And judgeth all things with a single eye,  
Fly, come you hither; No discovery  
Of what you see, to your Colonel Toe, or Tip, here,  
But keep all close, tho' youyou stand i'the way o'preferment,  
Seek it, off from the road; no flattery for't:  
No lick-foot, pain of losing your proboscis:  
My liquorish Fly.  Tip. 
What says old velvet-head?  Fli. 
He will present me himself, Sir, if you will not.  Tip. 
Who? he present? what? whom? An Host? A Groom?  
Divide the thanks with me? share in my glories?  
Lay up. I say no more.  Hos. 
Then silence Sir,  
And hear the sovereign.  Tip. 
ostlers? to usurp  
Upon my Sparta or Province, as they say?  
No broom but mine?  Hos. 
Still Colonel, you mutter?  Tip. 
I dare speak out, as Cuerpo.  Fli. 
Noble Colonel.  Tip. 
And carry what I ask-  Hos. 
Ask what you can Sr.  
So't be i'the house.  Tip. 
I ask my rights & privileges,  
And though for form I please to call't a suit,  
I have not been accustomed to repulse.  Pru. 
No sweet Sir Glorious, you may still command.  Hos. 
And go without.  Pru. 
But yet Sir being the first,  
And called a suit, you'll look it shall be such  
As we may grant.  Lad. 
It else denies itself.  Pru. 
You hear the opinion of the Court.  Tip. 
I mind  
No Court opinions.  Pru. 
'tis my Ladies, though.  Tip. 
My Lady is a Spinster, at the Law,  
And my petition is of right.  Pru. 
What is it?  Tip. 
It is for this poor learned bird.  Hos. 
The Fly?  Tip. 
Professor in the Inn, here, of small matters:  Lat. 
How he commends him!  Hos. 
As, to save himself( in him.  Lad. 
So do all Politics in their commendations.  Hos. 
This is a State-bird, and the verier fly?  Tip. 
Hear him problematize.  Pr. 
Bless us, what's that?  Tip. 
Or syllogize, elenchize.  Lad. 
Sure, petards,  
To blow us up.  Lat. 
Some ingenious strong words!  Hos. 
He means to erect a castle i'the air,  
And make his fly an Elephant to carry it.  Tip. 
Bird of the Arts he is, and Fly by name!  Pru. 
Buz.  Hos. 
Blow him off good Pru, they'll mar all else.  Tip. 
The Sovereign's honour is to cherish learning.  Pru. 
What in a Fly?  Tip. 
In any thing industrious.  Pr. 
But Flies are busy!  Lad. 
Nothing more troublesome,  
Or importune!  Tip. 
there's nothing more domestic,  
Tame, or familiar than your Fly in Cuerpo.  Hos. 
That is when his wings are cut, he is tame indeed, else  
Nothing more impudent, and greedy; licking:  Lad. 
Or saucy, good Sir Glorious.  Pr. 
Leave your Advocateship  
Except that we shall call you Orator Fly,  
And send you down to the dresser, and the dishes.  Hos. 
A good flap, that!  Pru. 
Commit you to the steem!  Lad. 
Or else condemn you to the bottles.  Pr. 
And pots.  
There is his quarry.  Host 
He will chirp, far better,  
Your bird, below.  Lad. 
And make you finer Music.  Pru. 
His buzz will there become him.  Tip. 
Come away.  
Buz, in their faces: Give 'em all the Buz,  
Dor in their ears, and eyes, Hum, Dor, and Buz!  
I will statuminate and under prop thee.  
If they scorn us, let us scorn them- we'll find  
The thoroughfare below, and Quaere him,  
Leave these relics, Buz; they shall see that I,  
Spite of their jeers, dare drink, and with a Fly.  Lat. 
A fair remove at once, of two impertinents!  
Excellent Pru! I love thee for thy wit,  
No less than State.  Pru. 
One must preserve the other.  Lad. 
Who's here?  Pru. 
O Lovel, Madam, your sad servant.  Lad. 
Sad? he is sullen still, and wears a cloud  
About his brows; I know not how to approach him.  Pru. 
I will instruct you, madame, if that be all,  
Go to him and kiss him.  Lad. 
How, Pru?  Pru. 
Go, and kiss him,  
I do command it.  Lad. 
thouart not wild, wench!  Pru. 
No,  
Tame, and exceeding tame, but still your Sovereign.  Lad. 
Hath too much bravery made thee mad?  Pru. 
Nor proud  
do, what I do enjoin you. No disputing  
Of my prerogative, with a front, or frown;  
Do not detract: you know th'authority  
Is mine, and I will exercise it, swiftly,  
If you provoke me.  Lad. 
I have woven a net  
To snare myself in! Sir I am enjoined  
To tender you a kiss; but do not know  
Why, or wherefore, only the pleasure royal  
Will have it so, and urges— Do not you  
Triumph on my obedience, seeing it forced thus.  
There 'tis.  Lov. 
And welcome. Was there ever kiss  
That relished thus! or had a sting like this,  
Of so much Nectar, but, with Aloës mixed.  Pru. 
No murmuring, nor repining, I am fixed.  Lov. 
It had, methinks, a quintessence of either,  
But that which was the better, drowned the bitter.  
How soon it passed away! how unrecovered!  
The distillation of another soul  
Was not so sweet! and till I meet again,  
That kiss, those lips, like relish, and this taste,  
Let me turn all, consumption, and, here waste.  Pru. 
The royal assent is past, and cannot alter.  Lad. 
You'll turn a Tyrant.  Pru. 
Be not you a Rebel,  
It is a name is alike odious.  Lad. 
You'll hear me?  Pru. 
No, not of'is argument.  
Would you make laws, and be the first that break 'em?  
The example is pernicious in a subject,  
And of your quality, most.  Lat. 
Excellent Princess!  Host. 
Just Queen!  Lat. 
Brave Sovereign.  Host 
A she-troyan! this!  Bea. 
What is't? Proceed incomparable Pru!  
I am glad I am scarce at leisure to applaud thee.  Lat. 
It's well for you, you have so happy expressions.  Lad. 
Yes, cry her up, with acclamations, do,  
And cry me down, run all with sovereignty.  
Prince Power will never want her Parasites.  Pru. 
Nor Murmur her pretences: Master Lovel,  
For so your libel here, or bill of complaint,  
Exhibited, in our high Court of Sovereignty,  
At this first hour of our reign, declares  
Against this noble Lady, a disrespect  
You have conceived, if not received, from her.  Host. 
Received, so the charge lies in our bill.  Pru. 
We see it, his learned Council, leave your planing,  
We that do love our justice, above all  
Our other Attributes; and have the nearness,  
To know your extraordinary merit;  
As also to discern this Lady's goodness;  
And find how loath she'd be, to lose the honour,  
And reputation, she hath had, in having  
So worthy a servant, though but for few minutes.  
Do here enjoin.  Hos. 
Good!  Pru. 
Charge, will, & command  
Her Ladyship, pain of our high displeasure  
And the committing an extreme contempt,  
Unto the Court, our crown and dignity.  Host. 
Excellent Sovereign! And egregious Pru.  Pru. 
To entertain you for a pair of hours,  
(Choose, when you please, this day) with all respects,  
And valuation of a principal servant,  
To give you all the titles, all the privileges,  
The freedoms, favours, rights, she can bestow.  Hos. 
Large, ample words, of a brave latitude!  Pru. 
Or can be expected, from a Lady of honour,  
Or quality, in discourse, access, address.  Hos. 
Good.  Pru. 
Not to give ear, or admit conference  
With any person but yourself. Nor there,  
Of any other argument, but love,  
And the companion of it, gentile courtship.  
For which your two hours' service, you shall take  
Two kisses.  Hos. 
Noble!  Pru. 
For each hour, a kiss,  
To be ta'en freely, fully, and legally;  
Before us; in the Court here, & our presence.  Hos. 
Rare?  Pru. 
But those hours past, and the two kisses paid,  
The binding caution is, never to hope  
Renewing of the time, or of the suit,  
On any circumstance.  Hos. 
A hard condition!  Lat. 
Had it been easier, I should have suspected  
The sovereign's justice.  Hos. 
O you are servant,  
My Lord, unto the Lady, and a Rival:  
In point of law, my Lord, you may be challenged.  Lat. 
I am not jealous!  Host. 
Of so short a time  
Your Lordship needs not, and being done, in foro.  Pru. 
What is the answer?  Host. 
He craves respite, madame,  
To advise with his learned Council.  Pru. 
Be you he,  
And go together quickly.  Lad. 
You are, no Tyrant?  Pru. 
If I be madam, you were best appeal me!  Lat. 
Beaufort—  Bea. 
I am busy, prithee let me alone:  
I have a cause in hearing too.  Lat. 
At what Bar?  Bea. 
Loves Court o'Requests!  Lat. 
Bring't into the Sovereignty:  
It is the nobler Court, afore judge Pru,  
The only learned mother of the Law!  
And Lady o' conscience, too!  Bea. 
'Tis well enough  
Before this mistress of Requests, where it is.  Host. 
Let 'em not scorn you. Bear up master Lovel,  
And take your hours, and kisses, They are a fortune.  Lov. 
Which I cannot approve, and less make use of:  Host. 
Still in'is cloud! why cannot you make use of?  Lov. 
Who would be rich to be so soon undone?  
The beggars best is wealth, he doth not know:  
And, but to show it him, in flames his want:  Host. 
Two hours at height?  Lov. 
That joy is too too narrow,  
Would bound a love, so infinite as mine:  
And being passed, leaves an eternal loss.  
Who so prodigiously affects a feast,  
To forfeit health, and appetite, to see it?  
Or but to taste a spoonful, would forgo  
All gust of delicacy ever after?  Host. 
These, yet, are hours of hope.  Lov. 
But all hours following  
Years of despair, ages of misery!  
Nor can so short a happiness, but spring  
A world of fear, with thought of losing it;  
Better be never happy, then to feel  
A little of it, and then lose it ever.  Host. 
I do confess, it is a strict injunction;  
But, than the hope is, it may not be kept.  
A thousand things may intervene, We see  
The wind shift often, thrice a day, sometimes;  
Decrees may alter upon better motion,  
And riper hearing. The best bow may start,  
And th'hand may vary. Pru may be a sage  
In Law, and yet not sour, sweet Pru, smooth Pru,  
Soft, debonair, and amiable Pru,  
May do as well as rough, and rigid Pru;  
And yet maintain her, venerable Pru,  
Majestic Pru, and serenissimus Pru.  
Try but one hour first, and as you like  
The loose of'at, Draw home and prove the other.  Lov. 
If one hour could, the other happy make,  
I should attempt it.  Hos. 
Put it on: and do.  Lov. 
Or in the blessed attempt that I might die!  Hos. 
I marry, there were happiness indeed;  
Transcendent to the Melancholy, meant.  
It were a fate, above a monument,  
And all inscription, to die so. A Death  
For Emperors to enjoy! And the Kings  
Of the rich East, to pawn their regions for;  
To sow their treasure, open all their mines,  
Spend all their spices to embalm their corpse,  
And wrap the inches up in sheets of gold,  
That fell by such a noble destiny!  
And for the wrong to your friend, that fear's away,  
He rather wrongs himself, following fresh light,  
New eyes to swear by. If Lord Beaufort change,  
It is no crime in you to remain constant.  
And upon these conditions, at a game  
So urged upon you.  Pru. 
Sir your resolution—  Hos. 
How is the Lady affected?  Pru. 
Sou'raignes use not  
To ask their subjects' suffrage where 'tis due;  
But where conditional.  Host. 
A royal Sovereign!  Lat. 
And a rare States-woman. I admire her bearing  
In her new regiment.  Host. 
Come choose your hours,  
Better be happy for a part of time,  
Than not the whole: and a short part, then never.  
Shall I appoint 'em, pronounce for you?  Lov. 
Your pleasure.  Host. 
Then he designes his first hour after dinner;  
His second after supper. Say ye? Content?  Pru. 
Content.  Lad. 
I am content.  Lat. 
Content.  Fra. 
Content.  Bea. 
What's that? I am content too.  Lat. 
You have reason,  
You had it on the by, and we observed it.  Nur. 
Trot I am not content: in faith I am not.  Host. 
Why art not thou content, Good Sheleenien?  Nur. 
He tauk so desperate, and so debauched,  
So bawdy like a Courtier, and a Lord,  
God bless him, one that tak'th Tobacco.  Host. 
Very well mixed.  
What did he say?  Nur. 
Nay, nothing to the purposh,  
Or very little, nothing at all to purposh.  Host. 
Let him alone Nurse.  Nur. 
I did tell him of Serly  
Was a great family come out of Ireland,  
Descended of O Neale, Mac Con, Mac Dermot,  
Mac Murrogh, but he marked not.  Host. 
Nor do I,  
Good Queen of Heralds, ply the bottle, and sleep.    

Act 3.  

Scene 1.  Tipto. Flie. Iug. Peirce. jordan. Ferret. Trundle. 
I like the plot of your Militia, well!  
It is a fine Militia, and well ordered!  
And the division's neat! 'Twill be desired  
Only, th'expressions were a little more Spanish:  
For there's the best Militia o'the world!  
To call 'em Tertias. Tertia of the kitchen,  
The Tertia of the cellar, Tertia of the chamber,  
And Tertia of the stables.  Fly. 
That I can, Sir,  
And find out very able, fit commanders.  
In every Tertia.  Tip. 
Now you are i'the right!  
As i'the Tertia o'the kitchen, yourself  
Being a person, elegant in sauces,  
There to command, as prime Maestro del Campo,  
Chief Master of the palate, for that Tertia:  
Or the Cook under you, 'cause you are the Marshal;  
And the next officer i'the field, to the Host.  
Then for the cellar, you have young Ano ne,  
Is a rare fellow, what's his other name?  Fly. 
Pierce, Sir.  Tip. 
Sir Pierce, I'll ha''him a Cavalier.  
Sir Pierce Anon, will pierce us a new hogshead!  
And than your thoroughfare, jug here, his Alferez:  
An able officer, giume thy beard, round jug,  
I take thee by this handle, and do love  
One of thy inches! I'the chambers, jordan, here.  
He is the Don, deal Campo o'the beds.  
And for the stables, what's his name?  Fly. 
old Peck.  Tip. 
Maestro del Campo, Peck! his name is curt,  
A monosyllable, but commands the horse well.  Fly. 
O, in an Inn, Sir, we have other horse,  
Let those troops rest a while. Wine is the horse,  
That we must charge with here.  Tip. 
Bring up the troops,  
Or call sweet Fly, 'tis an exact Militia,  
And thou an exact professor, Lipsius Fly,  
Thou shalt be called, and jouse: lack Ferret, welcome,  
Old Trenchmaster, and Colonel o'the Pioneers,  
What canst thou bolt us now? a Coney? or two  
Out of Thom: Trundles burrow, here, the Coach?  
This is the master of the carriages!  
How is thy driving Thom: good, as 'twas?  Tru. 
It serves my Lady, and our officer Pru.  
twelve mile an hour! Thom has the old trundle still.  Tip. 
I am taken with the family, here, fine fellows?  
Viewing the muster roll.  Tru. 
They are brave men!  Fer. 
And of the Fly, blown discipline all, the quartermaster!  Tip. 
The Fly's a rare bird, in his profession!  
Let's sip a private pint with him, I would have him  
Quit this light sign of the light heart, my bird:  
And lighter house. It is not for his tall  
And growing gravity so Cedar-like,  
To be the second to an Host in Cuerpo,  
That knows no elegancies, use his own  
Dictamen, and his Genius, I would have him  
Fly high, and strike at all. here's young Anon, too.  Pei. 
What wine is't Gentlemen, white or claret?  Tip. 
White. My brisk anon.  Pei. 
I'll draw you juno's milk  
That died the Lilies, Colonel.  Tip. 
Do so Pierce.  Pec. 
A plague of all jades, what a clap he has gi'n me  Fli. 
Why how now cousin?  Tip. 
Who's that?  Fer. 
The ostler.  Fli. 
What ail'st thou cousin Peck?  Pec. 
O me, my haunches!  
As sure as you live, Sir, he knew perfectly  
I meant to Cozen him. He did leer so on me,  
And then he sneered. As who would say take heed sirrah,  
And when he saw our half-peck, which you know  
Was but an old court-dish, Lord how he stamped?  
I thought, 't had been for joy. When suddenly  
He cuts me a back caper with his heels,  
And takes me just o'the crupper. Down come I  
And my whole ounce of oats! Then he neighed out,  
As if he had a Mare by the tail.  Fli. 
Troth cousin,  
You are to blame to use the poor dumb Christians,  
So cruelly, defraud 'em o'their dimensum,  
Yonder's the colonel's horse (there I looked in)  
Keeping our lady's eve! The devil a bit  
He has got, since he came in yet! There he stands,  
And looks and looks, but 'tis your pleasure, coz,  
He should look lean enough.  Pec. 
He has hay before him.  Fli. 
Yes, but as gross as hemp, and as soon will choke him,  
Unless he eat it buttered. H'had four shoes,  
And good ones, when he came in: It is a wonder,  
With standing still he should cast three.  Pec. 
Troth quartermaster,  
This trade is a kind of mystery, that corrupts  
Our standing manners quickly: Once a week,  
I meet with such a brush to mollify me.  
Sometimes a brace, to awake my Conscience,  
Yet still, I sleep securely.  Fli. 
cousin Peck,  
You must use better dealing, faith you must.  Pec. 
Troth, to give good example, to my successors,  
I could be well content to steal but two girths,  
And now and then a saddle cloth, change a bridle,  
For exercise: and stay there.  Fli. 
If you could  
There were some hope, on you, coz. But the fate is  
You are drunk so early, you mistake whole Saddles:  
Sometimes a horse.  Pec. 
I there's—  Fli. 
The wine, come coz, I'll talk with you anon.  Pec. 
Do, lose no time, good quartermaster.  Tip 
There are the horse, come, Fly.  Fli. 
Charge, in Boys, in; Lieutenant o'the ordinance.  
Tobacco, & pipes.  Tip. 
Who's that? Old jordan, good!  
A comely vessel, and a necessary.  
New-scoured he is: Here's to thee, Martial Fly.  
In milk, my young anon says.  Pei. 
Cream o'the grape!  
That dropped from juno's breasts, and sprung the Lily!  
I can recite your fables,  Fly. 
Here is, too,  
The blood of Venus, mother o'the Rose!  Ior. 
The dinner is gone up.  Iug. 
I hear the whistle.  Ior. 
ay, and the fiddlers. We must all go wait.  Pei. 
Pox of'is waiting, Quarter Master, Fly.  Fly. 
When Chambermaids are sovereigns, wait their Ladies.  
Fly scorns to breath.  Pec. 
or blow upon them, he.  Pei. 
Old Parcel Peck! Art thou there? how now? lame  Pec. 
Yes faith: it is ill halting afore cripples,  
I ha' got a dash of a jade, here, will stick by me.  Pei. 
O you have had some fantasy, fellow Peck,  
Some revelation—  Pec. 
What?  Pei. 
To steal the hay,  
Out o'the racks again:  Fly. 
I told him so,  
When the guests backs were turned.  Pei. 
Or bring his peck  
The bottom upwards, heaped with oats; and cry.  
Here's the best measure upon all the road! when  
You know the guest, put in his hand, to feel,  
And smell to the oats, that grated all his fingers  
upo'the wood—  Pec. 
Mum!  Pei. 
And found out your cheat.  Pec. 
I ha' been i'the cellar, Pierce.  Pei. 
You were then, there,  
upo' your knees; I do remember it:  
To ha'the fact concealed. I could tell more,  
soaping of saddles, cutting of horse tails,  
And cropping— pranks of ale, and hostelry—  Fly. 
Which he cannot forget, he says, young Knight:  
No more than you can other deeds of darkness,  
Done i'the cellar.  Tip. 
Well said, bold professor.  Fer. 
We shall ha' some truth explained.  Pei. 
We are all mortal,  
And have our visions.  Pec. 
Truly it seems to me  
That every horse has his whole peck, and tumbles  
up to the ears in litter,  Fly. 
When, indeed  
There's no such matter; not a smell of provender.  Fer. 
Not so much straw as would tie up a horse-tail!  Fly. 
Nor any thing i'the rack, but two old cob webs!  
And so much rotten hay, as had been a hen's riest!  Tru. 
And yet he's ever apt to sweep the mangers!  Fer. 
But puts in nothing.  Pei. 
These are fits, and fancies,  
Which you must leave, good Peck.  Fly. 
And you must pray  
it may be revealed to you, at sometimes,  
Whose horse you ought to cozen; with what conscience;  
The how; and when; a parson's horse may suffer—  Pei. 
Who's master's double beneficed; put in that.  Fly. 
A little greasing i'the teeth; 'tis wholesome:  
And keeps him in a sober shuffle.  Pei. 
His saddle too  
May want a stirrup.  Fly. 
And, it may be sworn,  
His learning lay o' one side, and so broke it.  Pec. 
They have ever oats i'their cloak-bags, to affront us.  Fly. 
And therefore 'tis an office meritorious,  
To tith such soundly.  Pei. 
And a grazier's may.  Fer. 
O they are pinching puckfists!  Tru. 
And suspicious.  Pei. 
Suffer before the master's face, sometimes.  Fly. 
He shall think he sees his horse eat half a bushel,  Pei. 
When the slight is, rubbing his gums with salt,  
Till all the skin come off, he shall but mumble,  
Like an old woman that were chewing brawn,  
And drop 'em out again.  Tip. 
Well argued Cavalier,  Fly. 
It may do well: and go for an example:  
But coz, have care of understanding horses,  
Horses with angry heels, Nobility horses.  
Horses that know the world; let them have meat  
Till their teeth ache; and rubbing till their ribs  
Shine like a wench's forehead: They are Devils else  
Will look into your dealings.  Pec. 
For mine own part,  
The next I cousin o'the pampered breed,  
I wish he may be foundered.  Fli. 
Foundered.  
Prolate it right.  Pec. 
And of all four, I wish it,  
I love no crupper compliments.  Pei. 
Whose horse was it?  Pec. 
Why, Mr Bursts.  Pei. 
Is Bat Burst come?  Pec. 
An hour he has been here.  Tip. 
What Burst?  Pei. 
Mas, Bartolmew Burst.  
One that hath been a Citizen, since a Courtier,  
And now a Gamester. Hath had all his whirls,  
And bouts of fortune, as a man would say,  
Once a Bat, and ever a Bat! a Rearmouse,  
And Bird o' twilight, he has broken thrice  Tip. 
Your better man, the Genoway Proverb say,  
Men are not made of steel.  Pei. 
Nor are they bounded  
Always to hold.  Fli. 
Thrice honourable Colonel!  
Hinges will crack-  Tip. 
Though they be Spanish iron  Pei. 
He is a merchant still, Adventurer,  
At in, and in: and is our thoroughfare's friend.  Tip. 
Who? legs?  Pei. 
The same: and a fine gentle  
Was with him!  Pec. 
Mr Huffle.  Pei. 
Who? Hodge Huffle?  Ti. 
What's he?  Pei. 
A cheater, & another fine gentle  
A friend o' the Chamberlains! jordans! Mr. Huffle  
He is Bursts protection.  Fli. 
Fights, and vapours for him  Pei. 
He will be drunk so civilly-  Fli. 
So discreetly-  Pei. 
And punctually! just at his hour.  Fli. 
And then  
Call for his jordan, with that hum and state,  
As if he pissed the Politics!  Pei. 
And sup  
With his tuft-taffata night-gear, here, so silently!  Fli. 
Nothing but Music!  Pei. 
A dozen of bawdy songs.  Tip. 
And knows the General this?  Fl. 
O no, Sr. Dormis,  
Dormit Patronus, still, the master sleeps.  
They'll steal to bed.  Pei. 
In private Sir, and pay,  
The Fiddlers with that modesty, next morning.  Fli. 
Take a disiune of muscadel, and eggs!  Pei. 
And pack away i' their trundling cheats, like Gipsies  Tru. 
Mysteries, mysteries, Ferret.  Fer. 
I we see, Trundle,  
What the great Officers, in an Inn may do;  
I do not say the Officers of the Crown  
But the light heart.  Tip. 
I'll see the Bat, and Huffle.  Fer. 
I ha' some business Sir, I crave your pardon-  Tip. 
What?  Fer. 
To be sober.  Tip. 
Pox, go get you gone then.  
Trundle shall stay.  Tru. 
No I beseech you Colonel,  
Your Lordship has a mind to be drunk private,  
With these brave Gallants; I will step aside  
Into the stables, and salute my Mares.  Pei. 
Yes do: and sleep with 'em, let him go base— whipstock.  
he's as drunk as a fish now, almost as dead.  Tip. 
Come, I will see the flicker mouse, my Fly.    

Act 3.  

Scene 2.  Prudence ushered by the Host, takes her seat of judicature, Nurse, Frank, the two Lords Beaufort, and Latimer, assist of the Bench: The Lady and Lovel are brought in, and sit on the two sides of the stage, confronting each the other. Ferret. Trundle. Pru. 
Here set the hour; but first produce the parties:  
And clear the court. The time is now of price.  Hos. 
jug, get you down, and Trundle get you up,  
You shall be Crier. Ferret here, the Clerk.  
jordan, smell you without, till the Ladies call you;  
Take down the Fiddlers too, silence that noise,  
Deep, i'the cellar, safe.  Pru. 
Who keeps the watch?  Hos. 
Old Sheelinin here, is the madam Tell-clock.  Nur. 
No fait and trot, sweet Master, I shall sleep;  
I fait, I shall.  Bea. 
I pray thee, do then, Schrich. owl.  
She brings to mind the fable o'the Dragon,  
That kept the Hesperian fruit. Would I could charm her.  Hos. 
Trundle will do it with his hum. Come Trundle.  
Precede him Ferret, i'the form.  Fer. 
Oyez, oyez, oyez.  
Whereas there hath been awarded,  
By the Queen Regent of Love,  
In this high court of sovereignty,  
Two special hours of address,  
To Herebert Lovel, appellant,  
Against the Lady Frampul, defendant  
Herebert Lovel, Come into the Court.  
Make challenge to thy first hour,  
And save thee, and thy bail.  Tru. 
O yez, &c.  
Whereas, &c.  
By the Qu. &c.  
In this high, &c.  
Two special, etc.  
To Herebert, &c.  
Against the, &c.  
Herebert Lov. &c.  
Make, &c.  
And save, &c.  Hos. 
lo, louting where he comes into the Court!  
Clerk of the sovereignty take his appearance.  
And how accoutred, how designed he comes!  Fer. 
't's done. Now Crier, call the Lady Frampul,  
And by the name of,  
Francis, Lady Frampul, defendant,  
Come into the Court,  
Make answer to the award,  
And save thee, and thy bail.  Tru. 
Francis &c.  
Come into the, &c.  
Make answer, &c.  
And save thee, &c.  Enter Lady Hos. 
She makes a noble, and a just appearance.  
Set it down likewise, and how armed she comes.  Pru. 
Usher of love's Court, give 'em their oath.  
According to the form, upon love's Missal.  Hos. 
Arise, and lay your hands, upon the Book.  
Herebert Lovel Appellant, and Lady Frances Frampul, Defendant, you shall swear upon the Liturgy of Love, Ovid de arte amandi, that you neither have, x will have, nor in any wise bear about you, thing, or things, pointed, or blunt, within these these lists, other than what are natural, and allowed by the Court: No enchanted Arms, or weapons, Stones of virtue, Herb of Grace, Charm, Character, Spell, Philtre, or other power, then Loves only, and the justness of your cause. So help you Love, his Mother, and the contents of this Book: Kiss it. Return unto your seats. Crier bid silence.  Tru. 
Oyez. Oyez. Oyez.  Fe. 
I'the name o'the Sovereign of Love  
Notice is given by the Court,  
To the Appellant, and Defendant,  
That the first hour of address proceeds.  
And Love save the Sovereign.  Tru. 
I'the &c.  
Notice is &c.  
To the Ap &c.  
That the &c.  
And love &c.  Tru. 
Every man, or woman keep silence pain of imprisonment.  Pru. 
Do your endeavours, in the name of Love.  Lov. 
To make my first approaches, then, in love.  Lad. 
Tell us what Love is, that we may be sure  
There's such a thing, and that it is in nature.  Lov. 
Excellent Lady, I did not expect  
To meet an Infidel! much less an Atheist!  
Here in love's lists! of so much unbelief!  
To raise a question of his being—  Host. 
Well-charged!  Lov. 
I rather thought, and, with religion, think,  
Had all the character of love been lost,  
His lines, dimensions, and whole signature  
Razed, and defaced, with dull humanity:  
That both his nature, and his essence might  
Have found their mighty instauration here,  
Here where the confluence of fair, and good,  
Meets to make up all beauty. For, what else  
Is Love, but the most noble, pure affection  
Of what is truly beautiful, and fair?  
Desire of union with the thing beloved?  (Beau. 
Have the assistants of the Court their votes,  
And writ of privilege, to speak them freely?  Pru. 
Yes, to assist; but not to interrupt.  Bea. 
Then I have read somewhere, that man and woman  
Were, in the first creation, both one piece,  
And being cleft asunder, ever since,  
Love was an appetite to be rejoined.  
As for example—  Nur. 
Cramo-cree! what meansh' tou?  Bea. 
Only, to kiss, and part.  Hos. 
So much is lawful.  Lat. 
And stands with the prerogative of love's Court!  Lov. 
It is a fable of Plato's, in his Banquet,  
And uttered, there, by Aristophanes.  Hos. 
'Twas well remembered here, and to good use.)  
But on with your description, what Love is.  
Desire of union with the thing beloved.  Lov. 
I meant a definition. For I make  
The efficient cause, what's beautiful, and fair.  
The formal cause, the appetite of union.  
The final cause, the union itself.  
But larger, if you'll have it, by description,  
It is a flame, and ardour of the mind,  
Dead, in the proper corpse, quick in another's:  
transfers the Lover into the Loved.  
The he, or she, that loves, engraves, or stamps  
Th' Idea of what they love, first in themselves:  
Or, like to glasses, so their minds take in  
The forms of their beloved, and them reflect,  
It is the likeness of affections,  
Is both the parent, and the nurse of love.  
Love is a spiritual coupling of two souls,  
So much more excellent, as it least relates  
Unto the body; circular, eternal;  
Not feigned, or made, but borne: And then, so precious,  
As nought can value it, but itself. So free,  
As nothing can command it, but itself.  
And in itself, so round, and liberal,  
As where it favours, it bestows itself.  (Bea. 
And, that do I; here my whole self, I tender,  
According to the practice o'the Court.  Nurse 
I'tish a naughty practish, a lewd practish,  
Be quiet man, dou shalt not leap her, here.  Bea. 
Leap her? I lip her, foolish Queen at Arms,  
Thy blazon's false: wilt thou blaspheme thine office?)  Lov. 
But, we must take, and understand this love  
Along still, as a name of dignity;  
Not pleasure.  (Hos. 
Mark you that, my light young Lord?)  Lov. 
True love hath no unworthy thought, no light,  
Loose, unbecoming appetite, or strain,  
But fixed, constant, pure, immutable.  (Bea. 
I relish not these philosophical feasts:  
Give me a banquet o'sense, like that of Ovid:  
A form, to take the eye; a voice, mine care;  
Pure aromatics, to my scent; a soft,  
Smooth, dainty hand, to touch; and, for my taste,  
ambrosiac kisses, to melt down the palate.)  Lov. 
They are the earthly, lower form of lovers,  
Are only taken with what strikes the senses!  
And love by that loose scale. Although I grant,  
We like, what's fair and graceful in an object,  
And (true) would use it, in the all we tend to,  
Both of our civil, and domestic deeds.  
In ordering of an army, in our style,  
Apparel, gesture, building, or what not?  
All arts, and actions do affect their beauty.  
But put the case, in travail I may meet  
Some gorgeous Structure, a brave frontispiece,  
Shall I stay captive i'the outer court,  
Surprised with that, and not advance to know  
Who dwells there, and inhabiteth the house?  
There is my friendship to be made, within;  
With what can love me again: not, with the walls,  
Doors, windows, architrabes, the frieze, and coronice.  
My end is lost in loving of a face,  
An eye, lip, nose, hand, foot, or other part,  
Whose all is but a statue, if the mind  
Move not, which only can make the return.  
The end of love is, to have two made one  
In will, and in affection, that the minds  
Be first inoculated, not the bodies.  Bea. 
Gi' me the body, if it be a good one.  Fra. 
Nay, sweet my Lord, I must appeal the Sovereign  
For better quarter; If you hold your practice;  
Tru. Silence, pain of imprisonment: Hear the Court.  Lov. 
The body's love is frail, subject to change,  
And alter still, with it: The minds is firm,  
One, and the same, proceedeth first, from weighing,  
And well examining, what is fair, and good;  
Then, what is like in reason, fit in manners;  
That breeds good will: good will desire of union.  
So knowledge first, begets benevolence,  
Benevolence breeds friendship, friendship love.  
And where it starts or steps aside from this,  
It is a mere degenerous appetite,  
A lost, oblique, depraved affection,  
And bears no mark, or character of Love.  Lad. 
How am I changed! By what alchemy  
Of love, or language, am I thus translated!  
His tongue is tipped with the philosopher's stone,  
And that hath touched me through every vain!  
I feel that transmutation o'my blood,  
As I were quite become another creature,  
And all he speaks, it is projection!  Pru. 
Well feigned, my Lady: now her parts begin!  Lat. 
And she will act 'em subtly.  Pru. 
She fails me else.  Lov. 
Nor do they trespass within bounds of pardon,  
That giving way, and licence to their love,  
Divest him of his noblest ornaments,  
Which are his modesty, and shamefacedness:  
And so they do, that have unfit designs,  
Upon the parties, they pretend to love.  
For, what's more monstrous, more a prodigy,  
Then to hear me protest truth of affection  
Unto a person that I would dishonour?  
And what's a more dishonour, then defacing  
Another's good, with forfeiting mine own?  
And drawing on a fellowship of sin;  
From note of which, though (for a while) we may  
Be both kept safe, by caution, yet the conscience  
Cannot be cleansed. For what was hitherto  
Called by the name of love, becomes destroyed  
Then, with the fact: the innocency lost,  
The bating of affection soon will follow:  
And Love is never true, that is not lasting.  
No more than any can be pure, or perfect,  
That entertains more than one object. Dixi.  Lad. 
O speak, and speak for ever! let min'eare  
Be feasted still, and filled with this banquet!  
No sense can ever surfeit on such truth!  
It is the marrow of all lovers' tenants!  
Who hath read Plato, Heliodore, or Tatius,  
Sidney, D'Urse, or all love's Fathers, like him?  
He, is there the Master of the Sentences,  
Their School, their Commentary, Text, and Gloss,  
And breathes the true divinity of Love!  Pru. 
Excellent actor! how she hits this passion!  Lad. 
Where have I lived, in heresy, so long  
Out o'the Congregation of Love,  
And stood irregular, by all his Canons?  Lat. 
But do you think she plays?  Pru. 
Upo'my Sovereignty,  
Mark her anon.  Lat. 
I shake, and am half jealous.  Lad. 
What penance shall I do, to be received,  
And reconciled, to the Church of Love?  
Go on procession, barefoot, to his Image,  
And say some hundred penitential verses,  
There, out of Chaucer's Troilus, and Cressid?  
Or to his mother's shrine, vow a wax-candle  
As large as the Town Maypole is, and pay it!  
Enjoin me any thing this Court thinks fit,  
For I have trespassed, and blasphemed Love.  
I have, indeed, despised his Deity,  
Whom (till this miracle wrought on me) I knew not.  
Now I adore Love, and would kiss the rushes  
That bear this reverend Gentleman, his Priest,  
If that would expiate— but, I fear it will not.  
For, tho' he be somewhat struck in years, and old  
Enough to be my father, he is wise,  
And only wise men love, the other covet.  
I could begin to be in love with him,  
But will not tell him yet, because I hope  
T'enjoy the other hour, with more delight,  
And prove him farther.  Pru. 
Most Socratic Lady!  
Or, if you will Ironic! gi' you joy  
O' you Platonic love here, Mr. Lovel.  
But pay him his first kiss, yet, i'the Court,  
Which is a debt, and due: For the hour's run.  Lad. 
How swift is time, and slily steals away  
From them would hug it, value it, embrace it?  
I should have thought it scarce had run ten minutes,  
When the whole hour is fled. Here, take your kiss, Sir,  
Which I most willing tender you, in Court.  (Bea. 
And we do imitate—)  Lad. 
And I could wish,  
It had been twenty— so the sovereign's  
Poor narrow nature had decreed it so—  
But that is past, irrevocable, now:  
She did her kind, according to her latitude—  Pru 
Beware, you do not conjure up a spirit  
You cannot lay.  Lad. 
I dare you, do your worst,  
Show me but such an injustice: I would thank you  
To alter your award.  Lat. 
Sure she is serious!  
I shall have another fit of jealousy!  
I feel a grudging!  Host. 
Cheer up, noble guest,  
We cannot guess what this may come to, yet;  
The brain of man, or woman, is uncertain!  Lov. 
Tut, she dissembles! All is personated,  
And counterfeit comes from her! If it were not,  
The Spanish Monarchy, with both the Indies,  
Could not buy off the treasure of this kiss,  
Or half give balance for my happiness.  Host. 
Why, as it is yet, it glads my light Heart  
To see you roused thus from a sleepy humour,  
Of drowsy, accidental melancholy;  
And all those brave parts of your soul awake,  
That did before seem drowned, and buried in you!  
That you express yourself, as you had backed  
The muse's Horse! or got Bellerophon's arms!  
What news with Fly?  Fly. 
News, of a newer Lady,  
A finer, fresher, braver, bonnier beauty,  
A very bonaroba, and a Bouncer!  
In yellow, glistering, golden Satin.  Lad. 
Pru,  
Adjourn the Court.  Pru. 
Cry Trundle-  Tru. 
Oyez,  
Any man, or woman, that hath any personal attendance  
To give unto the Court; Keep the second hour,  
And Love save the Sovereign.    

Act 4.  

Scene 1.  Iug. Barnabe. jordan. 
O Barnabe!  Ior. 
Welcome Barnabe! Where hast thou been?  Bar. 
I'the foul weather.  Iug. 
Which has wet thee, Ban.  Bar. 
As dry as a chip! Good jug, a cast o'thy name,  
As well as thy office; two jugs!  Iug. 
By, and by.  Ior. 
What Lady's this thou hast brought here?  Bar. 
A great Lady  
I know no more: one, that will try you, jordan.  
she'll find your gage, your circle, your capacity,  
How does old Staggers the Smith? and Tree, the saddler?  
Keep they their penny-club, still?  Ior. 
And th'old catch too,  
Of whoop Barnaby-  Bar. 
Do they sing at me?  Ior. 
theyare reeling at it, in the parlour, now:  Bar. 
I'll to 'em: Gi' me a drink first.  Ior. 
Where's thy hat  Bar. 
I lost it by the way gi'me— another.  Iug. 
A hat?  Bar. 
A drink.  Iug. 
Take heed of taking cold, Ban-  Bar. 
The wind blew't off at Highgate, and my Lady  
Would not endure me, light, to take it up,  
But made me drive bareheaded i'the rain.  Ior. 
That she might be mistaken for a Countess?  Bar. 
Troth, like enough! She might be an o'ergrown Duchess,  
For aught I know.  Iug. 
What! with one man!  Bar. 
At a time,  
They carry no more, the best of'em.  Ior. 
Nor the bravest.  Bar. 
And she is very brave!  Ior. 
A stately gown!  
And petticoat, she has on!  Bar. 
Ha'you spied that, Jordan  
youare a notable peerer, an old Rabbi,  
At a smock's hem, boy.  Iug. 
As he is chamberlain,  
He may do that, by his place.  Ior. 
What's her Squire?  Bar. 
A toy, that she allows eight pence a day.  
A slight Man-net, to port her, up, and down.  
Come show me to my playfellows, old Staggers,  
And father Tree.  Ior. 
Here, this way, Barnabe.    

Act 4.  

Scene 2.  Tipto. Burst. Huffle. Fly. 
Come, letus take in fresco, here, one quart.  Bur. 
Two quarts, my man of war, letus not be stinted.  Huf. 
Advance three jordans, varlet o'the house:  Tip. 
I do not like your Burst, Bird; He is saucy:  
Some Shopkeeper he was?  Fly. 
Yes, Sir.  Tip. 
I knew it.  
A broke-winged Shopkeeper? I nose 'em, straight.  
He had no Father, I warrant him, that durst own him;  
Some foundling in a stall, or the Church porch;  
Brought up i'the Hospital; and so bound Prentice;  
Then Master of a shop; than one o'th' Inquest;  
Then breaks out Bankrupt; or starts Alderman:  
The original of both is a Church-porch—  Fli. 
Of some, my Colonel.  Tip. 
Good faith, of most!  
O'your shop Citizens, theyare rude Animals!  
And let 'em get but ten mile out a town  
Th' outswagger all the wapentake.  Fli. 
What's that?  Tip. 
A Saxon word, to signify the hundred.  Bur. 
Come let us drink, Sir Glorious, some brave health  
Upon our tiptoes.  Tip. 
To the health o'the Bursts.  Bu. 
Why Bursts?  Ti. 
Why Tipto's?  Bu. 
O' I cry you mercy!  Tip. 
It is sufficient.  Huf. 
What is so sufficient?  Tip. 
To drink to you is sufficient.  Huf. 
On what terms?  Tip. 
That you shall give security to pledge me.  Huf. 
So you will name no Spaniard, I will pledge you.  Tip. 
I rather choose to thirst: and will thirst ever,  
Then leave that cream of nations, uncried up.  
Perish all wine, and gust of wine.  Huf. 
How spill it?  
Spill it at me?  Tip. 
I wrek not, but I spilt it.  Fli. 
Nay pray you be quiet, noble bloods.  Bur. 
No Spaniards,  
I cry, with my cousin Huffle.  Huf. 
Spaniards? Pilchers?  Tip. 
Do not provoke my patient blade. It sleeps,  
And would not hear thee: Huffle, thou art rude,  
And dost not know the Spanish composition.  Bur. 
What is the Recipe? Name the ingredients.  Tip. 
Valour.  Bur. 
Two ounces!  Tip. 
Prudence.  Bur. 
Half a dram!  Tip. 
justice,  Bur. 
A penny weight!  Tip. 
Religion.  Bur. 
Three scruples!  Tip. 
And of gravida'd  Bur. 
A face-full!  Tip. 
He carries such a dose of it in his looks,  
Actions, and gestures, as it breeds respect,  
To him, from Savages, and reputation  
With all the sons of men.  Bur. 
Will it give him credit  
With Gamesters, Courtiers, Citizens, or Tradesmen?  Tip. 
he'll borrow money on the stroke of his beard!  
Or turn off his mustachio! His mere cuello,  
Or Ruff about his neck is a Bill of Exchange  
In any Bank, in Europe! Not a Merchant  
That fees his gate, but straight will furnish him  
Upon his pase!  Huf. 
I have heard the Spanish name  
Is terrible, to children in some Countries;  
And used to make them eat— their bread and butter:  
Or take their wormseed.  Tip. 
Huffle, you do shuffle:  
— to them: Stuff, Pinnacia.  Bur. 
Slid here's a Lady!  Huf. 
And a Lady gay!  Tip. 
A well-trimmed Lady!  Huf. 
Let's lay her a board.  Bur. 
Let's hail her first.  Tip. 
By your sweet favour Lady,  Stu. 
Good Gentlemen be civil, we are strangers.  Bur. 
And you were Flemings, Sir!  Huf. 
Or Spaniards!  Tip. 
theyare here, have been at Seville i'their days,  
And at Madrid too!  Pin. 
He is a foolish fellow,  
I pray you mind him not, He is my Protection.  Tip. 
In your protection, he is safe, sweet Lady.  
So shall you be, in mine.  Huf. 
A share, good colonel.  Tip. 
Of what?  Huf. 
Of your fine Lady! I am Hodge,  
My name is Huffle.  Tip. 
Huffling Hodge, be quiet.  Bur. 
And I pray you, be you so, Glorious colonel,  
Hodge Huffle shall be quiet.  Huf. 
A Lady gay, gay.  
For she is a Lady gay, gay, gay. For she's a Lady gay.  Tip. 
Bird o'the Vespers, Vespertilio, Burst;  
You are a Gentleman, o' the first head,  
But that head may be broke, as all the Body is—  
Burst, if you tie not up your Huffle, quickly.  Huf. 
Tie dogs, not man.  Hur. 
Nay pray thee, Hodge, be still.  Tip. 
This steel here rides not, on this thigh, in vain.  Huf. 
show'st thou thy steel, & thigh, thou glorious Dirt,  
Than Hodge sings Sampson, and no ties shall hold.  
— Peirce. jug. Iorden.  To them. Pei. 
Keep the peace gentlemen: what do you mean?  Tip. 
I will not discompose myself, for Huffle.  Pin. 
You see what your entreaty, and pressure still  
Of gentlemen, to be civil, doth bring on?  
A quarrel? and perhaps manslaughter? You  
Will carry your goose about you, still? your planing Iron?  
Your tongue to smooth all is not here fine stuff?  Stu. 
Why wife?  Pin. 
Your wife? ha' not I forbidden you that?  
Do you think I'll call you husband in'is gown,  
Or any thing, in that jacket, but Protection?  
Here tie my shoe; and show my vellute petticoat,  
And my silk stocking! why do you make me a Lady,  
If I may not do like a Lady, in fine clothes.  Stu. 
Sweet heart, you may do what you will, with me.  Pin. 
I; I knew that at home; what to do with you;  
But why was I brought hither? to see fashions?  Stu. 
And wear them too, sweet heart, but this wild Company  Pin. 
Why do you bring me in wild Company?  
You'd ha' me tame, and civil, in wild Company?  
I hope I know, wild Company are fine Company,  
And in fine Company, where I am fine myself,  
A Lady may do any thing, deny nothing  
To a fine party, I have heard you say't.  
— To them Pierce.  Pei. 
There are a Company of Ladies above  
Desire your ladyship's Company, and to take  
The surety of their lodgings, from the affront  
Of these half-beasts, were here e'en now, the centaurs,  Pin. 
Are they fine Ladies?  Pei. 
Some very fine Ladies.  Pin. 
As fine as I?  Pei. 
I dare use no comparisons,  
Being a servant, sent—  Pin. 
Spoke, like a fine fellow!  
I would thou wert one; I'd not then deny thee:  
But, thank thy Lady.  
— To them Host.  Hos. 
Madam, I must crave you  
To afford a Lady a visit, would excuse  
Some harshness o'the house, you have received  
From the brute guests.  Pin. 
This's a fine old man!  
I'd go with him an' he were a little finer!  
Stu. You may sweet heart, it is mine Host.  Pin. 
mine Host!  Host. 
Yes madame, I must bid you welcome.  Pin. 
Do then.  Stu. 
But do not stay.  Pin. 
I'll be advised by you, yes!    

Act 4.  

Scene. 3.  — To them Latimer. Beaufort. Lady. Pru. Frank. Host. Pinnacia. Stuffe. 
What more than Thracian Barbarism was this!  Bea. 
The battle o'the centaurs, with the Lapithes!  Lad. 
There is no taming o'the Monster drink.  Lat. 
But what a glorious beast our Tipto showed!  
He would not discompose himself, the Don!  
Your Spaniard, near, doth discompose himself.  Bea. 
Yet, how he talked, and roared i'the beginning!  Pru. 
And ran as fast, as 'a knocked marrowbone.  Bea. 
So they did all at last, when Lovel went down,  
And chased 'em 'bout the Court.  Lat. 
For all's Don Lewis!  
Or fencing after Euclid!  Lad. 
I ne'er saw  
A lightning shoot so, as my servant did,  
His rapier was a Meteor, and he waved it  
Over 'em, like a Comet! as they fled him!  
I marked his manhood! every stoop he made  
Was like an Eagles, at a flight of Cranes!  
(As I have read somewhere.)  Bea. 
Bravely expressed:  Lat. 
And like a Lover!  Lad. 
Of his valour, I am!  
He seemed a body, rarified, to air!  
Or that his sword, and arm were of a piece,  
They went together so! Here, comes the Lady.  Bea. 
A bouncing bonaroba! as the Fly said.  Fra. 
She is some Giantess! I'll stand off,  
For fear she swallow me.  La. 
Is not this our Gown, Pru?  
That I bespoke of Stuffe?  Pru. 
It is the fashion!  Lad. 
ay, and the Silk! Feel, sure it is the same!  Pru. 
And the same Petticoat, lace, and all!  Lad. 
I'll swear it.  
How came it hither? make a bill of inquiry.  Pru. 
Yo'haue a fine suit on, Madam! and a rich one!  Lad. 
And of a curious making!  Pru. 
And a new!  Pin. 
As new, as Day.  Lat. 
She answers like a fishwife.  Pin. 
I put it on, since Noon, I do assure you,  Pru. 
Who is your tailor?  Lad. 
Pray you, your fashioner's name.  Pin 
My Fashioner is a certain man o' mine own,  
He is i'the house: no matter for his name.  Host. 
O, but to satisfy this bevy of Ladies:  
Of which a brace, here, longed to bid you welcome  Pin. 
He's one, in truth, I title my Protection:  
Bid him come up.  Host. 
Our new lady's Protection!  
What is your ladyship's style?  Pin. 
Countess Pinnaccia.  Host. 
Countess Pinnacia's man, come to your Lady,  Pru. 
Your ladyship's tailor! mass, Stuff!  Lad. 
How Stuffe?  
He the Protection!  Hos. 
Stuff looks like a remnant.  Stu. 
I am undone, discovered!  Pru. 
'tis the suit, madam,  
Now, without scruple! and this, some device  
To bring it home with.  Pin. 
Why, upon your knees?  
Is this your Lady Godmother?  Stu. 
Mum, Pinnacia.  
It is the Lady Frampul: my best customer.  Lad. 
What show is this, that you present us with?  Stu. 
I do beseech your Ladyship, forgive me.  
She did but say the suit on.  Lad. 
Who? Which she?  Stu. 
My wife forsooth.  Lad. 
How? Mistress Stuffe? Your wife!  
Is that the riddle?  Pru. 
We all looked for a Lady,  
A Duchess, or a Countess at the least.  Stu. 
She is my own lawfully begotten wife,  
In wedlock. We ha' been coupled now seven years.  Lad. 
And why thus masked? You like a footman, ha!  
And she your Countess!  Pin. 
To make a fool of himself  
And of me too.  Stu. 
I pray thee, Pinnace, peace.  Pin. 
Nay it shall out, since you have called me wife,  
And openly dis-Ladied me! though I am dis-Countessed  
I am not yet discountenanced. These shall see.  Host 
silence!  Pi. 
It is a foolish trick madam, he has;  
For though he be your Tailor, he is my beast.  
I may be bold with him, and tell his story.  
When he makes any fine garment will fit me,  
Or any rich thing that he thinks of price,  
Then must I put it on, and be his Countess,  
Before he carry it home unto the owners.  
A coach is hired, and four horse, he runs  
In his velvet Jacket thus, to Rumford, Croyden,  
Hounslow, or Barnet, the next bawdy road:  
And takes me out, carries me up, and throws me  
Upon a bed.  Lad. 
Peace thou immodest woman:  
She glories in the bravery o'the vice.  Lat. 
'tis a quaint one!  Bea. 
A fine species,  
Of fornicating with a man's own wife,  
Found out by (what's his name?)  Lat. 
Mr Nic. Stuffe!  Host. 
The very figure of preoccupation  
In all his customers best clothes.  Lat. 
He lies  
With his own Succuba, in all your names.  Bea. 
And all your credits.  Host. 
ay, and at all their costs.  Lat. 
This gown was then bespoken, for the Sovereign  Bea. 
I marry was it.  Lad. 
And a main offence,  
Committed 'gainst the sovereignty: being not brought  
Home i'the time. Beside, the profanation,  
Which may call on the censure of the Court.  Host. 
Let him be blanketed. Call up the Quartermaster.  
Deliver him over, to Fly.  Stu. 
O good my Lord.  Host. 
Pillage the Pinnace.  Lad. 
Let his wife be stripped.  Bea. 
Blow off her upper deck.  Lat. 
Tear all her tackle,  Lad. 
Pluck the polluted robes over her ears;  
Or cut them all to pieces, make a fire o'them:  Pru. 
To rags, and cinders, burn th'idolatrous vestures.  Hos. 
Fly, & your fellows, see that the whole censure  
Be throughly executed.  Fly. 
we'll toss him, bravely.  
Till the stuff stink again.  Host. 
And send her home,  
Divested to her flannel, in a cart.  Lat. 
And let her Footman beat the basin afore her.  Fli. 
The Court shall be obeyed.  Hos. 
Fly, & his officers  
Will do it fiercely.  Stu. 
Merciful queen Pru.  Pru. 
I cannot help you.  Bea. 
Go thy ways Nic. Stuffe,  
Thou hast nicked it for a fashioner of Venery!  Lat. 
For his own hell! though he run ten mile for't.  Pru. 
O here comes Lovel, for his second hour.  Bea. 
And after him, the type of Spanish valour.    

Act 4.  

Scene 4.  Lady. Lovel. Tipto. Latimer. Beaufort. Pru. Frank. Nurse. Host. 
Servant, what have you there?  Lou. 
A meditation,  
Or rather a vision, Madam, and of Beauty  
Our former subject.  Lad. 
Pray you let us hear it.  Lov. 

It was a beauty that I saw  
So pure, so perfect, as the frame  
Of all the universe was lame,  
To that one figure, could I draw,  
Or give least line of it a law!   

A skein of silk without a knot!  
A fair march made without a halt!  
A curious form without a fault!  
A printed book without a blot.  
All beauty, and without a spot.   Lad. 
They are gentle words, and would deserve a note,  
Set to 'em, as gentle.  Lov. 
I have tried my skill.  
To close the second hour, if you will hear them,  
My boy by that time will have got it perfect.  Lad. 
Yes, gentle servant. In what calm he speaks,  
After this noise, and tumult, so unmoved,  
With that serenity of countenance,  
As if his thoughts did acquiesce in that  
Which is the object of the second hour,  
And nothing else.  Pru. 
Well then summon the Court.  Lad. 
I have a suit to the Sovereign of love,  
If it may stand with the honour of the Court,  
To change the question but from love, to valour,  
To hear, it said, but, what true valour is,  
Which oft begets true love.  Lat. 
It is a question  
Fit for the Court, to take true knowledge of,  
And hath my just assent.  Pru. 
Content.  Bea. 
Content.  Fra. 
Content. I am content, give him his oath.  Host. 
Herebert Lovel, Thou shalt swear upon the testament of love, To make answer to this question propounded to thee by the Court, What true valour is. And therein to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. So help thee love, and thy bright sword at need.  Lov. 
So help me love and my good sword at need.  
It is the greatest virtue, and the safety  
Of all mankind, the object of it is danger.  
A certain mean twixt fear, and confidence:  
No inconsiderate rashness, or vain appetite  
Of false encountering formidable things;  
But a true science of distinguishing  
What's good or evil. It springs out of reason,  
And tends to perfect honesty, the scope  
Is always honour, and the public good:  
It is no valour for a private cause.  Bea. 
No? not for reputation?  Lov 
That's man's Idol,  
Set up 'gainst God, the maker of all laws,  
Who hath commanded us we should not kill;  
And yet we say, we must for reputation.  
What honest man can either fear his own,  
Or else will hurt another's reputation?  
Fear to do base, unworthy things, is valour,  
If they be done to us, to suffer them,  
Is valour too. The office of a man  
That's truly valiant, is considerable  
Three ways: The first is in respect of matter,  
Which still is danger; in respect of form,  
Wherein he must preserve his dignity;  
And in the end, which must be ever lawful.  Lat. 
But men, when they are heated, and in passion,  
Cannot consider.  Lov. 
Then it is not valour.  
I never thought an angry person valiant:  
Virtue is never aided by a vice.  
What need is there of anger, and of tumult?  
When reason can do the same things, or more?  Bea. 
O yes, 'tis profitable, and of use,  
It makes us fierce, and fit to undertake.  Lov. 
Why so will drink make us both bold, and rash.  
Or frenzy if you will, do these make valiant?  
They are poor helps, and virtue needs them not.  
No man is valianter by being angry,  
But he that could not valiant be without:  
So, that it comes not in the aid of virtue,  
But in the stead of it.  Lat. 
He holds the right.  Lov. 
And 'tis an odious kind of remedy,  
To owe our health to a disease.  Tip. 
If man  
Should follow the dictamen of his passion,  
He could not scape—  Bea. 
To discompose himself.  Lat. 
According to Don Lewis!  Host. 
Or Caranza!  Lov. 
Good Colonel Glorious, whilst we treat of valour,  
Dismiss yourself.  Lat. 
You are not concerned.  Lov. 
Go drink,  
And congregate the ostlers, and the Tapsters,  
The under-officers o' your regiment;  
Compose with them, and be not angry valiant!  Tipto goes out. Bea. 
How does that differ from true valour?  Lov. 
Thus.  
In the efficient, or that which makes it,  
For it proceeds from passion, not from judgement:  
Then brute beasts have it, wicked persons, there  
It differs in the subject: in the form,  
'Tis carried rashly, and with violence:  
Then i'the end, where it respects not truth,  
Or public honesty; but mere revenge.  
Now confident, and undertaking valour,  
Sways from the true, two other ways; as being  
A trust in our own faculties, skill, or strength,  
And not the right, or conscience o'th' cause,  
That works it: Then i'the end, which is the victory,  
And not the honour.  Bea. 
But the ignorant valour  
That knows not why it undertakes, but doth it  
T'escape the infamy merely—  Lov. 
Is worst of all:  
That valour lies, i'the eyes o'the lookers on;  
And is called valour with a witness.  Bea. 
Right:  Lov. 
The things true valour is exercised about,  
Are poverty, restraint, captivity,  
Banishment, loss of children, long disease:  
The least is death. Here valour is beheld,  
Properly seen; about these it is present:  
Not trivial things, which but require our confidence.  
And, yet to those, we must object ourselves,  
Only for honesty: if any other  
Respect be mixed, we quite put out her light.  
And as all knowledge, when it is removed  
Or separate from justice, is called craft,  
Rather than wisdom: so a mind affecting,  
Or undertaking dangers, for ambition,  
Or any self pretext, not for the public,  
Deserves the name of daring, not of valour,  
And over-daring is as great a vice,  
As over-fearing.  Lat. 
Yes, and often greater.  Lov. 
But as is not the mere punishment,  
But cause that, makes a martyr, so it is not  
Fighting, or dying; but the manner of it  
Renders a man himself. A valiant man  
Ought not to undergo, or tempt a danger,  
But worthily, and by selected ways:  
He undertakes with reason, not by chance.  
His valour is the salt to his other virtues,  
They are all unseasoned without it. The waiting maids,  
Or the concomitants of it, are his patience,  
His magnanimity, his confidence,  
His constancy, security, and quiet;  
He can assure himself against all rumour!  
Despairs of nothing! laughs at contumelies!  
As knowing himself, advanced in a height  
Where injury cannot reach him, nor aspersion  
Touch him with soil!  Lad. 
Most manly uttered all!  
As if Achilles had the chair in valour,  
And Hercules were but a Lecturer!  
Who would not hang upon those lips for ever!  
That strike such music? I could run on them;  
But modesty is such a school mistress,  
To keep our sex in awe.  Pru. 
Or you can feign! my  
Subtle and dissembling Lady mistress.  Lat. 
I fear she means it, Pru, in too good earnest!  Lov. 
The purpose of an injury 'tis to vex  
And trouble me: now, nothing can do that,  
To him that's valiant. He that is affected  
With the least injury, is less than it.  
It is but reasonable, to conclude  
That should be stronger, still, which hurts, then that  
Which is hurt. Now no wickedness is stronger,  
Then what opposeth it: Not Fortune's self,  
When she encounters virtue, but comes off  
Both lame, and less! why should a wise man then,  
Confess himself the weaker, by the feeling  
Of a fool's wrong? There may an injury  
Be meant me, I may choose, if I will take it.  
But we are, now, come to that delicacy,  
And tenderness of sense, we think an insolence  
Worse than an injury, bear words worse than deeds;  
We are not so much troubled with the wrong,  
As with the opinion of the wrong! like children,  
We are made afraid with visors! Such poor sounds  
As is the lie, or common words of spite.  
Wise laws thought never worthy a revenge;  
And 'tis the narrowness of humane nature,  
Our poverty, and beggary of spirit,  
To take exception at these things. He laughed at me!  
He broke a jest! a third took place of me!  
How most ridiculous quarrels are all these?  
Notes of a queasy, and sick stomach, labouring  
With want of a true injury! the main part  
Of the wrong, is, our vice of taking it.  Lat. 
Or our interpreting it to be such.  Lov. 
You take it rightly. If a woman, or child  
Give me the lie, would I be angry? no,  
Not if I were i'my wits, sure I should think it  
No spice of a disgrace. No more is theirs,  
If I will think it, who are to be held  
In as contemptible a rank, or worse.  
I am kept out a Masque, sometime thrust out,  
Made wait a day, two, three, for a great word,  
Which (when it comes forth) is all frown, and forehead!  
What laughter should this breed, rather than anger!  
Out of the tumult, of so many errors,  
To feel, with contemplation, mine own quiet?  
If a great person do me an affront,  
A Giant of the time, sure, I will bear it  
Or out of patience, or necessity!  
Shall I do more for fear, then for my judgement?  
For me now to be angry with Hodge Huffle,  
Or Burst (his broken charge) if he be saucy,  
Or our own type of Spanish valour, Tipto,  
(Who were he now necessited to beg  
Would ask an alms, like Conde Olivares)  
Were just to make myself, such a vain Animal  
As one of them. If light wrongs touch me not,  
No more shall great; if not a few, not many.  
There's nought so sacred with us but may find  
A sacrilegious person, yet the thing is  
No less divine, cause the profane can reach it.  
He is shot free, in battle, is not hurt,  
Not he that is not hit. So he is valiant,  
That yields not unto wrongs; not he that scapes 'em  
They that do pull down Churches, and deface  
The holiest Altars, cannot hurt the Godhead.  
A calm wise man may show as much true valour,  
Amidst these popular provocations,  
As can an able Captain show security,  
By his brave conduct, through an enemy's country.  
A wise man never goes the people's way,  
But as the Planets still move contrary  
To the world's motion; so doth he, to opinion:  
He will examine, if those accidents  
(Which common fame calls injuries) happen to him  
Deservedly, or no? come they deservedly,  
They are no wrongs then, but his punishments:  
If undeservedly, and he not guilty,  
The doer of them, first, should blush, not he.  Lat. 
Excellent!  Bea. 
Truth, and right!  Fra. 
An Oracle  
Could not have spoken more!  Lad. 
been more believed!  Pru. 
The whole Court runs into your sentence, Sir!  
And see, your second hour is almost ended.  Lad. 
It cannot be! O clip the wings of time,  
Good Pru, or make him stand still with a charm.  
Distil the gout into it, cramps, all diseases  
T'arrest him in the foot, and fix him here:  
O, for an engine, to keep back all clocks!  
Or make the Sun forget his motion!  
If I but knew what drink the Time now loved,  
To set my Trundle at him, mine own Barnabe!  Pru. 
Why? I'll consult our Shelee nien, To-mas.  Nur. 
Er grae Chreest.  Bea. 
Wake her not.  Nur. 
Tower een Cuppan  
D'vsque bagh done.  Pru. 
Vsquebagh's her drink.  
But 'twill not make the time drunk.  Host. 
As't hath her,  
Away with her, my Lord, but marry her first. Pru,  Pru. 
ay, that will be sport anon too, for my Lady.  
But she hath other game to fly at yet:  
The hour is come, your kiss.  Lad. 
My servant's song, first.  Pru. 
I say the kiss, first; and I so enjoined it:  
At your own peril, do, make the contempt.  Lad. 
Well Sir, you must be paid, and legally.  Pru. 
Nay nothing, Sir, beyond.  Lov. 
One more I— except.  
This was but half a kiss, and I would change it.  Pur. 
The Court's dissolved, removed, and the play ended.  
No sound, or air of Love more, I decree it.  Lov. 
From what a happiness hath that one word  
Thrown me, into the gulf of misery?  
To what a bottomless despair? how like  
A Court removing, or an ended Play  
Shows, my abrupt precipitate estate,  
By how much more my vain hopes were increased  
By these false hours of conversation?  
Did not I prophesy this, of myself,  
And gave the true prognostics? o my brain!  
How art thou turned! and my blood congealed!  
My sinews slackened! and my marrow melted!  
That I remember not where I have been,  
Or what I am? Only my tongue's on fire;  
And burning downward, hurls forth coals, & cinders,  
To tell, this temple of love, will soon be ashes!  
Come Indignation, now, and be my mistress,  
No more of love's ingrateful tyranny.  
His wheel of torture, and his pits of birdlime,  
His nets of nooses, whirlpools of vexation,  
His mills, to grind his servants into powder—  
I will go catch the wind first in a sieve,  
Weigh smoke, and measure shadows, plough the water,  
And sow my hopes there, ere I stay in Love.  Lat. 
My jealousy is off, I am now secure.  Lov. 
Farewell the craft of crocodiles, women's piety,  
And practice of it, in this art of flattering,  
And fooling men. I ha' not lost my reason,  
Though I have lent myself out, for two hours,  
Thus to be baffled by a Chambermaid,  
And the good Actor, her Lady, afore mine Host,  
Of the light Heart, here, that hath laughed at all—,  Host. 
Who I?  Lov. 
Laugh on, Sir, I'll to bed, and sleep,  
And dream away the vapour of Love, if th'house  
And your leer drunkards let me. Lad. Pru.  Pru. 
Sweet madam.  Lad. 
Why would you let him go thus?  Pru. 
In whose power  
Was it to stay him, properer than my Ladies!  Lad. 
Why, in her Ladies? Are not you the Sovereign?  Pru. 
Would you, in conscience, madam, ha' me vex  
His patience more?  Lad. 
Not but apply the cure,  
Now it is vexed.  Pru. 
That's but one bodies work.  
Two cannot do the same thing handsomely.  Lad. 
But had not you the authority, absolute?  Pru. 
And were not you i'rebellion, Lady Frampul,  
From the beginning?  Lad. 
I was somewhat froward,  
I must confess, but frowardness sometime  
Becomes a beauty, being but a visor  
Put on. You'll let a Lady wear her mask, Pru.  Pru. 
But how do I know, when her Ladyship is pleased  
To leave it off, except she tell me so?  Lad. 
You might ha' known that by my looks, and language,  
Had you been or regardant, or observant.  
One woman, reads another's character,  
Without the tedious trouble of deciphering:  
If she but give her mind to't, you knew well,  
It could not sort with any reputation  
Of mine, to come in first, having stood out  
So long, without conditions, for mine honour.  Pru. 
I thought you did expect none, you so jeered him,  
And put him off with scorn-  Lad. 
Who, I, with scorn?  
I did express my love, to idolatry rather,  
And so am justly plagued, not understood.  Pru. 
I swear, I thought you had dissembled, Madam,  
And doubt, you do so yet.  Lad. 
Dull, stupid, wench!  
Stay i'thy state of ignorance still, be damned,  
An idiot Chambermaid! Hath all my care,  
My breeding thee in fashion, thy rich clothes,  
Honours, and titles wrought no brighter effects  
On thy dark soul, then thus? Well! go thy ways,  
Were not the tailor's wife, to be demolished,  
Ruined, uncased, thou shouldst be she, I vow.  Pru. 
Why, take your spangled properties, your gown,  
And scarves.  Lad. 
Pru, Pru, what dost thou mean?  Pru. 
I will not buy this playboy's bravery,  
At such a price, to be upbraided for it,  
Thus, every minute.  Lad. 
Take it not to heart so.  Pru. 
The tailor's wife? There was a word of scorn!  Lad. 
It was a word fell from me, Pru, by chance.  Pru. 
Good madam, please to undeceive yourself,  
I know when words do slip, and when they are darted  
With all their bitterness: uncased? demolished?  
An idiot— Chambermaid, stupid, and dull?  
Be damned for ignorance? I will be so.  
And think I do deserve it, that, and more,  
Much more I do.  Lad. 
Here comes mine Host! No crying!  
Good Pru. Where is my servant Lovel, Host?  Hos. 
you ha' sent him up to bed, would, you would follow him!  
And make my house amends!  Lad. 
Would you advise it?  Hos. 
I would I could command it. My light heart  
Should leap till midnight.  Lad. 
Pray thee be not sullen,  
I yet must ha' thy counsel. Thou shalt wear, Pru,  
The new gown, yet.  Pru. 
After the tailor's wise?  Lad. 
Come, be not angry, or grieved: I have a project.  Hos. 
Wake Sheleenien Thomas! Is this your Heraldry?  
And keeping of records, to lose the main?  
Where is your charge?  Nur. 
Gra chreest!  Hos. 
Go ask, th'oracle  
O'the bottle, at your girdle, there you lost it:  
You are a sober setter of the watch.    

Act. 5.  

Scene 1.  Host. Fly. 
Come Fly, and legacy, the Bird o'the heart:  
Prime insect of the sin, Professor, Quartermaster,  
As ever thou deserved'st thy daily drink,  
Paddling in sack, and licking i'the same,  
Now show thyself an implement of price,  
And help to raise a nap to us, out of nothing,  
Thou sawst 'em married?  Fly. 
I do think, I did,  
And heard the words, Philip, I take thee, Latice,  
I gave her too, was then the father Fly,  
And heard the Priest do his part, far as five nobles  
Would lead him i'the lines of matrimony.  Host. 
Where were they married?  Fly. 
I'th' new stable,  (Hos. 
Ominous!  
I ha' known many a church been made a stable,  
But not a stable made a church till now  
I wish 'em joy. Fly, was he a full priest?  Fly. 
He bellied for it, had his velvet sleeves,  
And his branched cassock, a side sweeping gown,  
All his formalities, a good crammed divine!  
I went not far to fetch him, the next Inn,  
Where he was lodged, for the action.  Hos. 
Had they a licence?  Fly. 
Licence of love, I saw no other, and purse,  
To pay the duties both of Church, and house,  
The angels flew about.  Host. 
Those birds send luck:  
And mirth will follow. I had thought to ha' sacrificed,  
To merriment tonight, i'my light Heart, Fly,  
And like a noble Poet, to have had  
My last act best: but all fails i'the plot.  
Lovel is gone to bed; the Lady Frampul  
And Sovereign Pru fall'n out: Tipto, and his Regiment  
Of mine-men, all drunk dumb, from his whop Barnaby,  
To his hoop Trundle: they are his two Tropicks.  
No project to rear laughter on, but this,  
The marriage of Lord Beaufort, with Laetitia.  
Stay! what's here! The satin gown redeemed!  
And Pru restored in't, to her Lady's grace!  Fly. 
She is set forth in't! rigged for some employment!  Hos. 
An Embassy at least!  Fly. 
Some treaty of state!  Host. 
'Tis a fine tack about! and worth the observing.    

Act 5.  

Scene 2.  Lady. Prudence. Host. Fly. 
Sweet Pru, ay, now thou art a Queen indeed!  
These robes do royally! and thou becomest 'em!  
So they do thee! rich garments only fit  
The parties they are made for! they shame others.  
How did they show on goody Tailors back!  
Like a Caparison for a Sow, God save us!  
Thy putting hem on hath purged, and hallowed 'em  
From all pollution, meant by the Mechanics.  Pru. 
Hang him poor snip, a secular shop-wit!  
H' hath nought but his shears to claim by, & his measures,  
His prentice may as well put in, for his needle,  
And plead a stitch.  Lad. 
They have no taint in 'em,  
Now o'the tailor.  Pru. 
Yes, of his wife's haunches,  
Thus thick of fat; I smell 'em, o'the say.  Lad. 
It is restorative, Pru! with thy but chafing it,  
A barren Hind's grease may work miracles.  
Find but his chamber door, and he will rise  
To thee! or if thou pleasest, fain to be  
The wretched party herself, and com'st unto him  
In forma pauperis, to crave the aid  
Of his Knight errant valour, to the rescue  
Of thy distressed robes! name but thy gown,  
And he will rise to that! Pru. I'll fire the charm first,  
I had rather die in a ditch, with Mistress Shore,  
Without a smock, as the pitiful matter has it,  
Then owe my wit to clothes, or ha' it beholden.  Host. 
Still spirit of Pru!  Fly. 
And smelling o'the Sovereign!  Pru. 
No, I will tell him, as it is, indeed;  
I come from the fine, froward, frampold Lady,  
One was run mad with pride, wild with self-love,  
But late encountering a wise man, who scorned her,  
And knew the way to his own bed, without  
Borrowing her warming pan, she hath recovered  
Part of her wits: so much as to consider  
How far she hath trespassed, upon whom, and how.  
And now sits penitent and solitary,  
Like the forsaken Turtle, in the volary  
Of the light Heart, the cage, she hath abused,  
Mourning her folly, weeping at the height  
She measures with her eye, from whence she is fall'n,  
Since she did branch it, on the top o'the wood.  Lad. 
I pray thee Pru, abuse me enough, that's use me  
As thou thinkest fit, any course way, to humble me,  
Or bring me home again, or Lovel on:  
Thou dost not know my sufferings, what I feel,  
my fires, and fears, are met: I burn, and freeze,  
My liver's one great coal, my heart shrunk up  
With all the fevers, and the mass of blood  
Within me, is a standing lake of fire,  
Curled with the cold wind of my gelid sighs,  
That drive a drift of sleet through all my body,  
And shoot a February through my veins.  
until I see him, I am drunk with thirst,  
And surfeited with hunger of his presence.  
I know not where I am, or no, or speak,  
Or whether thou dost hear me.  Pru. 
Spare expressions.  
I'll once more venture for your Ladyship,  
So you will use your fortunes reverent.  Lad. 
Religiously, dear Pru, Love and his Mother,  
I'll build them several Churches, Shrines, and Altars,  
And over head, I'll have, in the glass windows,  
The story of this day be painted, round,  
For the poor Laity of love to read,  
I'll make myself their book, nay their example,  
To bid them take occasion by the forelock,  
And play no after-games of Love, hereafter.  Host. 
And here your Host, and's Fly, witness your vows.  
And like two lucky birds, bring the presage  
Of a loud jest: Lord Beaufort married is.  Lad. 
Ha!  Fli. 
All to be married.  Pru. 
To whom, not your son?  Host. 
The same  Pru. 
If her Ladyship could take truce  
A little with her passion, and give way  
To their mirth now running.  Lad. 
Runn's it mirth, let't come,  
It shall be well received, and much made of it.  Pru. 
We must of this, It was our own conception.    

Act 5.  

Scene 3.  — Latimer. To them. 
Room for green rushes, raise the Fiddlers, Chamberlain,  
Call up the house in arms.  Hos. 
This will rouse Lovel.  Fly. 
And bring him on too.  Lat. 
Shelee-neen.  
Runs like a heifer, bitten with the breeze,  
About the court, crying on Fly, and cursing.  Fly. 
For what, my Lord?  Lat. 
you werewere best hear that from her,  
It is no office, Fly, fits my relation.  
Here come the happy couple! joy, Lord Beaufort.  Fly. 
And my young Lady too.  Hos. 
Much joy, my Lord!    

Act 5.  

Scene 4.  Beaufort. Frank. servant. (To them. 
I thank you all, I thank thee, Father Fly.  
Madam, my cousin, you look discomposed,  
I have been bold with a salad, after supper,  
O' your own lettuce, here:  Lad. 
You have, my Lord.  
But laws of hospitality, and fair rites,  
Would have made me acquainted.  Bea. 
I' your own house,  
I do acknowledge: Else, I much had trespassed.  
But in an Inn, and public, where there is licence  
Of all community: a pardon o' course  
May be sued out.  Lat. 
It will, my Lord, and carry it.  
I do not see, how any storm, or tempest  
Can help it, now.  Pru. 
The thing being done, and past,  
You bear it wisely, and like a Lady of judgement.  Bea. 
She is that, secretary Pru.  Pru. 
Why secretary?  
My wise Lord? is your brain lately married?  Bea. 
Your reign is ended, Pru, no sovereign now:  
Your date is out, and dignity expired.  Pru. 
I am annulled, how can I treat with Lovel,  
Without a new commission?  Lad. 
Thy gown's commission.  Host. 
Have patience, Pru, expect, bid the Lord joy.  Pru. 
And this brave Lady too. I wish them joy.  Pei. 
joy. jour. joy. jug. All joy.  Hos. 
ay, the house full of joy.  Fly 
Play the bells, Fiddlers, crack your strings with joy.  Pru. 
But Lady Letice, you showed a neglect  
Un-to-be-pardoned, towards my Lady, your kinswoman,  
Not to advise with her.  Bea. 
Good politic Pru,  
Urge not your state-advice, your afterwit;  
'Tis near upbraiding. Get our bed ready, Chamberlain,  
And Host, a Bride-cup, you have rare conceits,  
And good ingredients, ever an old Host  
upo' the road, has his provocative drinks.  Lat. 
He is either a good bawd, or a Physician.  Bea. 
'Twas well he heard you not, his back was turned.  
A bed, the Genial bed, a brace of boys  
tonight I play for.  Pru. 
Give us points, my Lord.  Bea. 
Here take 'em, Pru, my codpiece point, and all,  
I ha' clasps, my Letice armes here take 'em boys.  
What is the chamber ready? speak, why stare you!  
On one another?  Ior. 
No Sir.  Bea. 
And why no?  Ior. 
My master has forbid it. He yet doubts  
That you are married.  Bea. 
Ask his vicar general,  
His Fly, here.  Fly. 
I must make that good, they are married.  Host. 
But I must make it bad, my hot young Lord.  
Gi' him his doublet again, the air is piercing;  
You may take cold, my Lord. See whom you ha' married,  
Your host's son, and a boy.  Fly. 
You are abused.  Lad. 
Much joy, my Lord.  Pru. 
If this be your Latitia,  
she'll prove a counterfeit mirth, and a clipped Lady.  Ser. 
A boy, a boy; my Lord has married a boy.  Lat. 
Raise all the house in shout, and laughter, a boy!  Host. 
Stay, what is here! peace rascals, stop your throats.    

Act 5.  

Scene 5.  — Nurse. (To them. 
That maggot, worm, that insect! O my child,  
My daughter! where's that Fly? I'll fly in his face,  
The vermin, let me come to him.  Fly. 
Why Nurse Shelee?  Nur. 
Hang thee thou Parasite, thou son of crumbs,  
And orts, thou hast undone me, and my child,  
My daughter, my dear daughter.  Ho. 
What means this?  Nur. 
O Sir, my daughter, my dear child is ruined,  
By this your Fly, here, married in a stable,  
And sold unto a husband.  Host. 
Stint thy cry,  
Harlot, if that be all, didst thou not sell him  
To me for a boy? and brought'st him in boys' rags,  
Here to my door, to beg an alms of me?  Nur. 
I did good Mr, and I crave your pardon.  
But 'tis my daughter, and a girl.  Host. 
Why saidst thou  
It was a boy, and sold'st him then, to me  
With such entreaty, for ten shillings, Carlin?  Nur. 
Because you were a charitable man  
I heard, good Mr, and would breed him well,  
I would ha' given him you, for nothing, gladly.  
Forgive the lie o' my mouth, it was to save  
The fruit o' my womb. A parents needs are urgent.  
And few do know that tyrant o'er good natures.  
But you relieved her, and me too, the Mother,  
And took me into your house to be the nurse,  
For which heaven heap all blessings on your head,  
Whilst there can one be added.  Host. 
Sure thou speakst  
Quite like another creature, than thouhast lived,  
Here, i'the house, a Shelee-neen Thomas,  
An Irish beggar.  Nur. 
So I am, God help me.  Host. 
What art thou? tell, The match is a good match,  
For aught I see: ring the bells once a gain.  Bea. 
Stint, I say, Fiddlers.  Lad. 
No going off my Lord.  Bea. 
Nor coming on sweet Lady, things thus standing!  Fly. 
But what's the heinousness of my offence?  
Or the degrees of wrong you suffered by it?  
In having your daughter matched thus happily,  
Into a noble house, a brave young blood,  
And a prime peer o'the Realm?  Bea. 
Was that your plot, Fly?  
Gi' me a cloak, take her again among you.  
I'll none of your light-Heart fosterlings, no Inmates,  
Suppositions fruits of an Host's brain,  
And his flies hatching, to be put upon me.  
There is a royal Court o'the Star-chamber  
Will scatter all these mists, disperse these vapours,  
And clear the truth. Let beggars match with beggars.  
That shall decide it, I will try it there.  Nur. 
Nay then my Lord, It's not enough, I see  
You are licentious, but you will be wicked.  
Yo' are not alone content to take my daughter,  
Against the law; but having taken her,  
You would repudiate, and cast her off,  
Now, at your pleasure, like a beast of power,  
Without all cause, or colour of a cause,  
That, or a noble, or an honest man,  
Should dare t'except against, her poverty.  
Is poverty a vice?  Bea. 
Th'age counts it so.  Nur. 
God help your Lordship, and your peers that think so,  
If any be: if not, God bless them all,  
And help the number o'the virtuous,  
If poverty be a crime. You may object  
Our beggary to us, as an accident,  
But never deeper, no inherent baseness.  
And I must tell you, now, young Lord of dirt,  
As an incensed mother, she hath more,  
And better blood, running i'those small veins,  
Than all the race of Beaufort's have in mass,  
Though they distil their drops from the left rib  
Of john O' Gaunt.  Host. 
Old mother o' records,  
Thou know'st her pedigree, then: whose daughter is she?  Nur. 
The daughter and coheir to the Lord Frampul,  
This lady's sister!  Lad. 
Mine? what is her name?  Nur. 
Laetitia.  Lady 
That was lost?  Nur. 
The true Latitia.  Lad. 
Sister, O gladness! Then you are our mother?  Nur. 
I am, dear daughter.  Lad. 
On my knees, I bless  
The light I see you by.  Nur. 
And to the author  
Of that blessed light, I open my other eye,  
Which hath almost, now, seven year been shut,  
Dark, as my vow was, never to see light,  
Till such a light restored it, as my children,  
Or your dear father, who (I hear) is not.  Bea. 
Give me my wife, I own her now, and will have her.  Host. 
But you must ask my leave first, my young Lord,  
Leave is but light. Ferret, Go bolt your Master,  
Here's gear will startle him. I cannot keep  
The passion in me, I am e'en turned child,  
And I must weep. Fly, take away mine host,  
My beard, and cap here, from me, and fetch my Lord.  
I am her father, Sir, and you shall now  
Ask my consent, before you have her. Wife!  
My dear and loving wife! my honoured wife!  
Who here hath gained but I? I am Lord Frampul,  
The cause of all this trouble? I am he  
Have measured all the Shires of England over:  
Wales, and her mountains, seen those wilder nations,  
Of people in the Peake, and Lancashire;  
Their Pipers, Fiddlers, Rushers, Puppet-masters,  
jugglers, and Gipseys, all the sorts of Canters,  
And Colonies of beggars, Tumblers, Ape-carriers,  
For to these savages I was addicted,  
To search their natures, and make odd discoveries!  
And here my wife, like a she Mandevile,  
Ventured in disquisition, after me.  Nur. 
I may look up, admire, I cannot speak  
Yet, to my Lord.  Host. 
Take heart, and breath, recover,  
Thou hast recovered me, who here had coffined  
myself alive, in a poor hostelry,  
In penance of my wrongs done unto thee  
Whom I long since gave lost.  Nur. 
So did I you,  
Till stealing mine own daughter from her sister,  
I lighted on this error hath cured all.  Bea. 
And in that cure, include my trespass, Mother,  
And Father, for my wife-  Host. 
No, the Star-chamber.  Bea. 
Away with that, you sour the sweetest lettuce  
Was ever tasted.  Host. 
Gi'you joy, my Son,  
Cast her not off again. O call me Father,  
Lovel, and this your Mother, if you like:  
But take your Mistress, first, my child; I have power  
To give her now, with her consent, her sister  
Is given already to your brother Beaufort.  Lov. 
Is this a dream now, after my first sleep?  
Or are these fantasies made i'the light Heart?  
And sold i'the new Inn?  Host. 
Best go to bed,  
And dream it over all. Let's all go sleep,  
Each with his Turtle. Fly, provide us lodgings,  
Get beds prepared: yo' are master now o'the Inn,  
The Lord o'the light Heart, I give it you.  
Fly, was my fellow Gipsy. All my family,  
Indeed, were Gipseys, Tapsters, Ostlers, Chamberlains,  
Reduced vessels of civility.  
But here stands Pru, neglected, best deserving  
Of all that are i'the house, or i'my Heart,  
Whom though I cannot help to a fit husband,  
I'll help to that will bring one, a just portion:  
I have two thousand pound in bank, for Pru,  
Call for it when she will  Bea. 
And I as much.  Host. 
There's somewhat yet, four thousand pound! that's better,  
Then sounds the proverb, four bare legs in a bed.  Lov. 
Me, and her mistress, she hath power to coin  
Up, into what she will.  Lad. 
Indefinite Pru.  Lat. 
But I must do the crowning act of bounty!  Host. 
What's that, my Lord?  Lat. 
Give her myself,  
By all the holy vows of love I do,  
Spare all your promised portions, she is a dowry which here  
So all sufficient in her virtue and manners,  
That fortune cannot add to her.  Pru. 
My Lord,  
Your praises, are instructions to mine ears,  
Whence, you have made your wife, to live your servant.  Host. 
Lights, get us several lights.  Lov. 
Stay let my Mrs  
But hear my vision sung, my dream of beauty,  
Which I have brought, prepared, to bid us joy,  
And light us all to bed, 'twill be instead  
Of airing of the sheets with a sweet odour.  Host. 
'Twill be an incense to our sacrifice  
Of love tonight, where I will woo afresh,  
And like Maecenas, having but one wife,  
I'll marry her, every hour of life, hereafter.  They go out, with a Song.    

Epilogue.  

Plays in themselves have neither hopes, nor fears,  
Their fate is only in their hearers ears:  
If you expect more than you had tonight,  
The maker is sick, and sad. But do him right,  
He meant to please you: for he sent things fit,  
In all the numbers, both of sense, and wit,  
If they ha' not miscarried! if they have,  
All that his faint, and faltering tongue doth crave,  
Is, that you not impute it to his brain.  
That's yet unhurt, although set round with pain,  
It cannot long hold out. All strength must yield.  
Yet judgement would the last be, i the field,  
With a true Poet. He could have haled in  
The drunkards, and the noises of the Inn,  
In his last Act; if he had thought it fit  
To vent you vapours, in the place of wit:  
But better 'twas, that they should sleep, or spew,  
Then in the Scene to offend or him, or you.  
This he did think; and this do you forgive:  
When ere the carcase dies, this Art will live.  
And had he lived the care of King, and Queen,  
His Art in something more yet had been seen;  
But Majors, and sheriffs may yearly fill the stage:  
A king's, or poet's birth do ask an age.    

Another Epilogue there was, made for the Play in the poet's defence, but the Play lived not, in opinion, to have it spoken.  

A jovial Host, and Lord of the new Inn,  
Cleped the light Heart, with all that passed therein,  
Hath been the subject of our Play tonight,  
To give the King, and Queen, and Court delight.  
But, than we mean, the Court above the stairs,  
And past the guard; men that have more of ears,  
Than eyes to judge us: Such as will not hiss  
Because the Chambermaid was named Cis.  
We think, it would have served our Scene as true,  
If, as it is, at first we had called her Pru,  
For any mystery we there have found,  
Or magic in the letters, or the sound.  
She only meant was, for a girl of wit,  
To whom her Lady did a Province fit:  
Which she would have discharged, and, done as well,  
Had she been christened joice, Grace, Doll, or Nell.    

The just indignation the Author took at the vulgar censure of his Play, by some malicious spectators, begat this following Ode to himself.  

COme leave the loathed stage,  
And the more loathsome age:  
Where pride, and impudence (in faction knit)  
Usurp the chair of wit!  
Indicting, and arraigning every day  
Something they call a Play.  
Let their fastidious, vain  
Commission of the brain  
Run on, and rage, sweat, censure, and condemn:  
They were not made for thee, less, thou for them.   

Say, that thou pourest them wheat,  
And they will acorns eat:  
'Twere simple fury, still, thyself to waste  
On such as have no taste!  
To offer them a surfeit of pure bread,  
Whose appetites are dead!  
No, give them grains their fill,  
Husks, draff to drink, and swill.  
If they love lees, and leave the lusty wine,  
Envy them not their palates, with the swine.   

No doubt some mouldy tale,  
Like Pericles; and stale  
As the Shrieves custs, and nasty as his fishscraps, out every dish,  
Thrown forth, and raked into the common tub,  
May keep up the Play-club:  
There, sweepings do as well  
As the best ordered meal.  
For, who the relish of these guests will fit,  
Needs set them, but, the almsbasket of wit.   

And much good do't you then:  
Brave plush, and velvet-men;  
Can feed on orts: And safe in your stage-clothes,  
Dare quit, upon your oaths,  
The stagers, and the stage-wrights too (your peers)  
Of larding your large ears  
With their foul comic socks;  
Wrought upon twenty blocks:  
Which, if they are torn, and turned, & patched enough,  
The gamesters share your guilt, and you their stuff.   

Leave things so prostitute,  
And take the Alcaic Lute;  
Or thine own Horace, or Anacreon's Lyre;  
Warm thee, by Pindar's fire:  
And though thy nerves be shrunk, and blood be cold,  
Ere years have made thee old;  
Strike that disdainful heat  
Throughout, to their defeat:  
As curious fools, and envious of thy strain,  
May, blushing, swear no palsey's in thy brain.   

But, when they hear thee sing  
The glories of thy King,  
His zeal to God, and his just awe o'er men;  
They may, blood shaken, then,  
Feel such a flesh-quake to possess their powers:  
As they shall cry, like ours  
In sound of peace, or wars,  
No Harp ere hit the stars;  
In tuning forth the acts of his sweet reign:  
And raising Charles his chariot, 'bove his Wain.   
The end.