The nevv inne. Or, The light heart A comoedy. As it was neuer acted, but most negligently play'd, by some, the Kings Seruants. And more squeamishly beheld, and censured by others, the Kings subiects. 1629. Now, at last, set at liberty to the readers, his Maties seruants, and subiects, to be iudg'd. 1631. By the author, B. Ionson.

Act 4. Scene. 3.

—To them Latimer. Beaufort. Lady. Pru. Frank. Host. Pinnacia. Stuffe.

What more then Thracian Barbarisme was this!

Bea.

The battayle o'the Centaures, with the Lapithes!

Lad.

There is no taming o'the Monster drinke.

Lat.

But what a glorious beast our Tipto shew'd! He would not discompose himselfe, the Don! Your Spaniard, nere, doth discompose himselfe.

Bea.

Yet, how he talkt, and ror'd i'the beginning!

Pru.

And ran as fast, as a knock'd Marro'bone.

Bea.

So they did all at last, when Lovel went downe, And chas'd hem bout the Court.

Lat.

For all's Don Lewis! Or fencing after Euclide!

Lad.

I nere saw A lightning shoot so, as my seruant did, His rapier was a Meteor, and he wau'd it Ouer 'hem, like a Comet! as they fled him! I mark'd his manhood! euery stoope he made Was like an Eagles, at a flight of Cranes! (As I haue read somewhere.)

Bea.

Brauely exprest:

Lat.

And like a Louer!

Lad.

Of his valour, I am! He seem'd a body, rarifi'd, to ayre! Or that his sword, and arme were of a peece, They went together so! Here, comes the Lady.

Bea.

A bouncing Bona-roba! as the Flie sayd.

Fra.

She is some Giantesse! Ile stand off, For feare she swallow me.

La.

Is not this our Gown, Pru? That I bespoke of Stuffe?

Pru.

It is the fashion!

Lad.

I, and the Silke! Feele, sure it is the same!

Pru.

And the same Peticote, lace, and all!

Lad.

Ile sweare it. How came it hither? make a bill of inquiry.

Pru.

Yo'haue a fine sute 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 fish-wife.

Pin.

I put it on, since Noone, I doe assure you,

Pru.

Who is your Taylor?

Lad.

'Pray you, your Fashioners name.

Pin

My Fashioner is a certaine man o' mine owne, He' is i'the house: no matter for his name.

Host.

O, but to satisfie this beuy of Ladies: Of which a brace, here, long'd to bid you well-come

Pin.

He'••s one, in truth, I title my Protection: Bid him come vp.

Host.

Our new Ladies Protection! What is your Ladiships stile?

Pin.

Countesse Pinnaccia.

Host.

Countesse Pinnacias man, come to your Lady,

Pru.

Your Ladiships Taylor! mas, Stuffe!

Lad.

How Stuffe? He the Protection!

Hos.

Stuffe lookes like a remnant.

Stu.

I am vndone, discouerd!

Pru.

Tis the suit, Ma∣dame, Now, without scruple! and this, some deuise To bring it home with.

Pin.

Why, vpon your knees? Is this your Lady Godmother?

Stu.

M••m, Pinnacia. It is the Lady Frampol: my best customer.

Lad.

What shew is this, that you present vs with?

Stu.

I doe beseech your Ladiship, forgiue me. She did but say the suit on.

Lad.

Who? Which she?

Stu.

My wife forsooth.

Lad.

How? Mistresse Stuffe? Your wife! Is that the riddle?

Pru.

We all look'd for a Lady, A Dutchesse, or a Countesse at the least.

Stu.

She is my owne lawfully begotten wife, In wedlocke. We ha'beene coupled now seuen yeares.

Lad.

And why thus mas'qd? You like a footman, ha! And she your Countesse!

Pin.

To make a foole of him∣selfe And of me too.

Stu.

I pray thee, Pinnace, peace.

Pin.

Nay it shall out, since you haue cald me wife, And openly dis-Ladied me! though I am dis-Countess'd I am not yet dis-countenanc'd. These shall see.

Hos

si∣lence!

Pi.

It is a foolish tricke Madame, he has; For though he be your Taylour, 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 thinkes of price, Then must I put it on, and be his Countesse, Before he carry it home vnto the owners. A coach is hir'd, and foure horse, he runnes In his veluet I ackat thus, to Rumford, Croyden, Hounslow, or Barnet, the next bawdy road: And takes me out, carries me vp, and throw's me Vpon a bed.

Lad.

Peace thou immodest woman: She glori••s in the brauery o'the vice.

Lat.

Tis a queint one!

Bea.

A fine species, Of sornicating with a mans owne wife, Found out by (what's his name?)

Lat.

M^r Nic. Stuffe!

Host.

The very figure of preoccupation In all his customers best clothes.

Lat.

He lies With his owne Succuba, in all your names.

Bea.

And all your credits.

Host.

I, and at all their costs.

Lat.

This gown was then bespoken, for the Souer aig••

Bea.

I marry was it.

Lad.

And a maine offence, Committed 'gainst the soueraignty: being not brought Home i'the time. Beside, the prophanation, Which may call on the censure of the Court.

Host.

Let him be blanketted. Call vp the Quarter-ma∣ster. Deliuer him ore, to Flie.

Stu.

O good my Lord.

Host.

Pillage the Pinnace.

Lad.

Let his wife be stript.

Bea.

Blow off her vpper deck.

Lat.

Teare all her tackle,

Lad.

Pluck the polluted robes ouer her eares; Or cut them all to pieces, make a fire o'them:

Pru.

To rags, and cinders, burn th'idolatrous vestures.

Hos.

Flie, & your fellowes, see that the whole censure Be throughly executed.

Fly.

Weel tosse him, brauely. Till the stuffe stinke againe.

Host.

And send her home, Diuested to her flanell, in a cart.

Lat.

And let her Footman beat the bason afore her.

Fli.

The Court shall be obei'd.

Hos.

Fly, & his office••s Will doe it fiercely.

Stu.

Mercifull queene Pru.

Pru.

I cannot help you.

Bea.

Go thy wayes Nic. Stuffe, Thou hast nickt it for a fashioner of Venery!

Lat.

For his owne hell! though he run ten mile for't.

Pru.

O here comes Lovel, for his second houre.

Bea.

And after him, the tipe of Spanish valour.