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. 5.

Scene 1.

Host. Fly.

Come Fly, and legacie, the Bird o'the heart: Prime insect of the ••nne, Prosessor, Quarter-master, As euer thou deserued'st thy daily drinke, Padling in sacke, and licking i'the same, Now shew thy selfe an implement of price, And helpe to raise a nap to vs, out of nothing, Thou saw'st'hem married?

Fly.

I doe thinke, I did, And heard the words, Philip, I take thee, L••tice, I gaue her too, was then the father Flie, And heard the Priest do his part, far as fiue nobles Would lead him i'the lines of matrimonie.

Host.

Where were they married?

Fly.

••'th ne•• stable,

(Hos.

Omin••! I ha' knowne many a church beene made a stable, But not a stable made a church till now

I wish 'hem ioy. Fly, was he a full priest?

Fly.

He belly'd for it, had his veluet sleeues, And his branch'd cassock, a side sweeping gowne, All his for malities, a good cramm'd diuine! I went not farre to fetch him, the next Inne, Where he was lodg'd, for the action.

Hos.

Had they a licence?

Fly.

Licence of loue, 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' sacrific'd, To m••rriment to night, i'my light Heart, Fly, And like a noble Poet, to haue had My last act best: but all failes i'the plot. Lovel is gone to bed; the Lady Frampull And Soueraigne Pru falne out: Tipto, and his Regiment Of mine-men, al drunk dumbe, from his whop Barnaby, To his hoope Trundle: they are his two Tropick••. No proiect to reare laughter on, but this, The marriage of Lord Beaufort, with Laetitia. Stay! what's here! The sattin gowne redeem'd! And Pru restor'd in't, to her Ladyes grace!

Fly.

She is set forth in't! rig'd for some imployment!

Hos.

An Embassy at least!

Fly.

Some treaty of state!

Host.

'Tis a fine tack about! and worth the obseruing.

Act 5. Scene 2.

Lady. Prudence. Host. Fly.

Sweet Pru, I, now thou art a Queene indeed! These robes doe royally! and thou becom'st 'hem! So they doe thee! rich garments only fit The partyes they are made for! they shame others. How did they shew on good'y Taylors back! Like a Caparison for a Sow, God saue vs! Thy putting hem on hath purg'd, and hallow'd 'hem From all pollution, meant by the Mechanicks.

Pru.

Hang him poore snip, a secular shop-wit! H' hath nought but his sheeres to claime by, & his mea∣sures, His prentise may as well put in, for his needle, And plead a stitch.

Lad.

They haue no taint in 'hem, Now o'the Taylor.

Pru.

Yes, of his wiues hanches, Thus thick of fat; I smell 'hem, o'the say.

Lad.

It is restoratiue, Pru! with thy but chafing it, A barren Hindes grease may worke miracles. Finde but his chamber doore, and he will rise To thee! or if thou pleasest, faine to be The wretched party her sel••e, and com'st vnto him In forma pauperis, to craue the aide Of his Knight errant valour, to the rescue Of thy distressed robes! name but thy gowne, And he will rise to that! Pru. Ile fire the charme first,

I had rather dye in a ditch, with Mistresse Shore, Without a smock, as the piti••ull matter has it, Then owe my wit to cloath••s, or ha' it beholden.

Host.

Still spirit of Pru!

Fly.

And smelling o'the Soue∣raigne!

Pru.

No, I will tell him, as it is, indeed; I come from the fine, froward, srampull Lady, One was runne mad with pride, wild with selfe-loue, But late encountring a wise man, who scorn'd her, And knew the way to his owne bed, without Borrowing her warming pan, she hathrecouerd Par•• of her wits: so much as to consider How farre she hath trespast'd, vpon whom, and how. And now sits penitent and solitary, Like the forsaken Turtle, in the volary Of the light Heart, the cage, she ha••h abus'd, Mourning her folly, weeping at the height She measures with her eye, from whence she is falne, Since she did branch it, on the top o'the wood.

Lad.

I pr'y thee Pru, abuse me enough, that's vse me As thou thinkest fit, any course way, to humble me, Or bring me home againe, or Lovel on: Thou doest not know my suffrings, what I fe••le, ••y fires, and feares, are met: I burne, and freeze, My liuer's one great coale, my heart shrunke vp With all the fiuers, and the masse of blood Within me, is a standing lake of fire, Curl'd with the cold wind of my gelid sighs, T••at d••ine a drift of sleete through all my body, And shoo•• a February through my veines. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 I see him, I am drunke with thirst,

And surfeted with hunger of his presence. I know not wher I am, or no, or speake, Or whether thou doest heare me.

Pru.

Spare expressi••ns. Ile once more venture for your Ladiship, So you will vse your fortunes reuerendly.

Lad.

Religiously, deare Pru, Lou•• and his Mother, Ile build them seuerall Churches, Shrines, and Alt••rs, And ouer head, Ile haue, in the glasse windowes, The story of this day be painted, round, For the poore Layety of loue to read, Ile make my selfe their booke, nay their example, To bid them take occasion by the forelock, And play no after-games of Loue, hereafter.

Host.

And here your Host, and's Fly, witnes your vowes. And like two lucky birds, bring the presage Of a loud iest: Lord Beaufort married is.

Lad.

H••!

Fli.

All to be married.

Pru.

To whom, not your sonn••?

Host.

The same

Pru.

If her Ladiship could take truce A little with her passion, and giue way To their mirth now running.

Lad.

Runn's it mirth, let't come, It shall be well receiu'd, and much made of it.

Pru.

We must of this, It was our owne conception.

Act 5. Scene 3.

—Latimer. To them.

Roome for green rushes, raise the Fidlers, Chamberlain, Call vp the house in armes.

Hos.

This will rouze Lovel.

Fly.

And bring him on too.

Lat.

Shelee-neen. Runns like a Heyfar, bitten with the Brieze, About the court, crying on Fly, and cursing.

Fly.

For what, my Lord?

Lat.

Yo'were best heare that from her, It is no office, Fly, fits my relation. Here come the happy couple! Ioy, Lord Beaufort.

Fly.

And my yong Lady too.

Hos.

Much ioy, my Lord!

Act 5. Scene 4.

Beaufort. Franke. Sernant. (To them.

I thanke you all, I thanke thee, Father Fly. Madam, my Cossen, you looke discompos'd, I haue beene bold with a sallad, after supper, O' your owne lettice, here:

Lad.

You haue, my Lord. But lawes of hospitality, and faire rites, Would haue made me acquainted.

Bea.

I' your owne house, I doe acknowledge: Else, I much had trespass'd. But in an Inne, and publique, where there is licence Of all community: a pardon o' course May be su'd•• out.

Lat.

It will, my Lord, and carry it. I doe not see, how any storme, or tempest Can helpe it, now.

Pru.

The thing being done, and past, You beare it wisely, and like a Lady of iudgement.

Bea.

She is that, secretary Pru.

Pru.

Why secretary? My wise Lord? is your braine lately maried?

Bea.

Your raigne is ended, Pru, no soueraigne now: Your date is out, and dignity expir'd.

Pru.

I am annul'd, how can I treat with Lovel, Without a new commission?

Lad.

Thy gown's commis∣sion.

Host.

Haue patience, Pru, expect, bid the Lord ioy.

Pru.

And this braue Lady too. I wish them ioy.

Pei.

Ioy. Ior. Ioy. Iug. All ioy.

Hos.

I, the house full of ioy.

Fly

Play the bels, Fidlers, crack your strings with ioy.

Pru.

But Lady Letice, you shew'd a neglect Vn-to-be-pardon'd, to'ards my Lady, your kinswoman, Not to advise with her.

Bea.

Good politique Pru, Vrge not your state-aduice, your after-wit; 'Tis neare vpbraiding. Get our bed ready, Chamberlain, And Host, a Bride-cup, you haue rare conceipts, And good ingredients, euer an old Host Vpo' the road, has his prouocatiue drinks.

Lat.

He is either a good Baud, or a Phyfician.

Bea.

'Twas well he heard you not, his back was turn'd. A bed, the Geniall bed, a brace of boyes To night I play for.

Pru.

Giue vs points, my Lord.

Bea.

Here take 'hem, Pru, my cod-piece point, and all, I ha' claspes, my Letice a••mes here take 'hem boyes. What is the chamber ready? speake, 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.

Aske his vicar generall, His Fly, here.

Fly.

I must make that good, they are mar∣ried.

Host.

But I must make it bad, my hot yong Lord. Gi' him his doublet againe, the aier is peircing; You may take cold, my Lord. See whom you ha'marri∣ed, Your hosts sonne, and aboy.

Fly.

You are abus'd.

Lad.

Much ioy, my Lord.

Pru.

If this be your Latitia,

Shee'l pr••ue a counterfeit mirth, and a clip'd Lady.

Ser.

A boy, a boy; my Lord has married a boy.

Lat.

Raise all the house in shout, and laughter, a boy!

H••st.

Stay, what is here! peace rascals, stop your throats.

Act 5. Scene 5.

—Nurse. (To them.

That magot, worme, that insect! O my child, My daughter! where's that Fly? Ile fly in his face, The ••ermin, let me come to him.

Fly.

Why Nurse Shele••?

Nur.

Hang thee thou Parasite, thou sonne of crums, And ottes, thou hast vndone me, and my child, My daughter, my d••are daughter.

Ho.

What meanes this?

Nur.

O Sir, my daughter, my deare child is tuin'd, By this your Fly, here, married in a stable, And sold vnto a husband.

Host.

Stint thy cry, Harlot, if that be all, did'st thou not sell him To me for a boy? and brought'st him in boyes rags, Here to my doore, to beg an almes of me?

Nur.

I did good M^r, and I ••raue your pardon. But 'tis my daughter, and a g••rle.

Host.

Why sayd'st thou It was a boy, and sold'st him then, to me With such entreaty, for ten s••illings, Carlin?

Nur.

Because you were a charitable man I ••eard, good Mr, and would br••ed him well, I would ha' giu'n him you, for nothing, gladly.

Forgiue the lie o' my mouth, it was to saue The fruit o' my wombe. A parents needs are vrgent. And few doe know that tyrant o're good natures. But you relieu'd her, and me too, the Mother, And tooke me into your house to be the nurse, For which heauen heape all blessings on your head, Whilst there can one be added.

Host.

Surethou speakst Quite like another creature, then th'hast liu'd, Here, i'the house, a Shelee-neen Thomas, An Irish beggar.

Nur.

So I am, God helpe me.

Host.

What art thou? tell, The match is a good match, For ought I see: ring the bels once a gaine.

Bea.

Stint, I say, Fidlers.

Lad.

No going off my Lord.

Bea.

Nor comming on sweet Lady, things thus standing!

Fly.

But what's the haynousnesse of my offence? Or the degrees of wrong you suffer'd by it? In hauing your daughter match't thus happily, Into a noble house, a braue yong blood, And a prime peere o'the Realme?

Bea.

Was that your plot, Fly? Gi' me a cloak, take her againe among you. Ile none of your light-Heart fosterlings, no Inmates, Supposititious fruits of an Host's bra••ne, And his Flys hatching, to be put vpon me. There is a royall Court o'the Star-chamber Will scatter all these mists, disperse these vapours, And cleare the truth. Let beggers match with beggers. That shall decide it, I will try it there.

Nur.

Nay then my Lord, Its 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 hauing 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 pouerty. Is pouerty a vice?

Bea.

Th'age counts it so.

Nur.

God helpe your Lordship, and your peeres that think so, If any be: if not, God blesse them all, And helpe the number o'the vertuous, If pouerty be a crime. You may obiect Our beggery to vs, as an accident, But neuer deeper, no inherent basenesse. And I must tell you, now, yong Lord of durt, As an incensed mother, she hat•• more, And be••ter blood, running i'those small veines, Then all the race of Beauforts haue in masse, Though they distill their drops from the left rib Of Iohn O' Gaunt.

Host.

Old mother o' records, Thou know'st her pedegree, then: whose daughter is she?

Nur.

The daughter and coheire to the Lord Framp••ll, This Ladies sister!

Lad.

Mine? what is her name?

Nur.

Laetitia.

Lad

That was lost?

Nur.

The true Latitia.

Lad.

Sister, O gladnesse! Then you are our mother?

Nur.

I am, deare daughter.

Lad.

On my knees, I blesse The light I see you by.

Nur.

And to the author Of that blest light, I ope my other eye, Which hath almost, now, seuen yeare beene shut, Darke, as my vow was, neuer to see light,

Till such a light restor'd it, as my children, Or your deare father, who (I heare) is not.

Bea.

Giue me my wife, I owne her now, and will haue her.

Host.

But you must aske my leaue first, my yong Lord, Leaue is but light. Ferret, Goe bolt your Master, Here's geare will startle him. I cannot keepe The passion in me, I am ••ne turn'd child, And I must weepe. 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 Aske my consent, before you haue her. Wife! My deare and louing wife! my honor'd wife! Who here hath gain'd but I? I am Lord Frampull, The cause of all this trouble? I am he Haue measur'd all the Shires of England ouer: Wales, and her mountaines, seene those wilder nations, Of people in the Peake, and Lancashire; Their Pipers, Fidlers, Rushers, Puppet-masters, Iuglers, and Gipseys, all the sorts of Canters, And Colonies of beggars, Tumblers, Ape-carriers, For to these sauages I was addicted, To search their natures, and make odde discoueries! And here my wife, like a she Mandeuile, Ventred in disquisition, after me.

Nur.

I may looke vp, admire, I cannot speake Yet, to my Lord.

Host.

Take heart, and breath, recouer, Thou hast recouer'd me, who here had coffin'd My selfe aliue, in a poore hostelry, In pennan••e of my wrongs done vnto thee Whom I long since gaue lost.

Nur.

So did I you,

Till stealing mine owne daughter from her sister, I lighted on this errour hath cur'd all.

Bea.

And in that cure, include my trespasse, Mother, And Father, for my wife-

Host.

No, the Star-chamber.

Bea.

Away with that, you sowre the sweetest lettice Was euer tasted.

Host.

Gi'you ioy, my Sonne, Cast her not off againe. O call me Father, Lovel, and this your Mother, if you like: But take your Mistris, first, my child; I haue power To giue her now, with her consent, her sister Is giuen already to your brother Beaufort.

Lov.

Is this a dreame now, after my first sleepe? Or are these phant'sies made i'the light Heart? And sold i'the new Inne?

Host.

Best goe to bed, And dreame it ouer all. Let's all goe sleepe, Each with his Turtle. Fly, prouide vs lodgings, Get beds prepar'd: yo' are master now o'the Inne, The Lord o'the light Heart, I giue it you. Fly, was my fellow Gipsey. All my family, Indeed, were Gipseys, Tapsters, Ostlers, Chamberlaines, Reduced vessels of ciuility. But here stands Pru, neglected, best deseruing Of all that are i'the house, or i'my Heart, Whom though I cannot helpe to a fit husband, Ile helpe to that will bring one, a iust portion: I haue two thousand pound in banke, for Pru, Call for it when she will

Bea.

And I as much.

Host.

There's somewhat yet, foure thousand pound! that's better, Then sounds the prouerbe, foure bare legs in a bed.

Lov.

Me, and her mistresse, she hath power to coy••e Vp, into what she will.

Lad.

Indefinite Pru.

Lat.

But I must doe the crowning act of bounty!

Host.

What's that, my Lord?

Lat.

Giue her my selfe, By all the holy vowes of loue I doe, Spare all your promis'd portions, she is a dowry which here So all sufficient in her vertue and manners, That fortune cannot adde to her.

Pru.

My Lord, Your praises, are instructions to mine eares, Whence, you haue made your wife, to liue yo•• seruant.

Host.

Lights, get vs seuerall lights.

Lov.

Stay let my Mrs But heare my vision sung, my dreame of beauty, Which I haue brought, prepar'd, to bid vs ioy, And light vs all to bed, 'twill be instead Of ayring of the sheets with a sweet odour.

Host.

'Twill be an incense to our sacrifice Of loue to night, where I will woo afresh, And like Mecaenas, hauing but one wife, Ile marry her, euery houre of life, hereafter.

They goe out, with a Song.