University of Virginia Library

Scene 3.

Ferret.
Host. Louel.
He'll make you a bird of night, Sir.

Host.
Blesse you child,
You'l make your selues such.

Lov.
'That your son mine host?

En. Fra. (the Host speake to his child o'the by
Host.
He's all the sonnes I haue Sir.

Lov.
Pretty boyy!
Goes he to schoole?

Fer.
O Lord, Sir, he prates Latine
And 'twere a parrat, or a play-boy.

Lov.
Thou—
Commend'st him fitly.

Fer.
To the pitch, he flies, Sir,
Hee'l tell you what is Latine for a looking-glasse,
A beard-brush, rubber, or quick-warming pan.

Lov.
What's that?

Fer.
a wench, i'the Inn-phrase, is al these;
A looking-glasse 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 Inne
Knowes no such language.

F.
That's because, mine host,
You doe professe the teaching him your selfe.

Host.
Sir, I doe teach him somewhat. By degrees,
And with a funnell, I make shift to fill
The narrow vessell, he is but yet, a bottell.

Lov
O let him lose no time, though.

Hos.
Sir, he do's not.

Lov.
And lesse his manners.

Hos.
I prouide for those, too.
Come hither Franke, speake to the gentleman

Latine:
He is melancholy; say,
I long to see him merry, and so would treat him.

Fra.
Subtristis visu' es esse aliquantulùm patri,
Quite lautè excipere, etiam ac tractare gestit.

Lov.
Pulchrè.

Host.
Tell him, I feare it bodes vs some ill luck,
His too reseruednesse.

Fra.
Veretur pater,
Ne quid nobis mali ominis apportet iste
Nimis præclusus vultus.

Lov.
Bellè. A fine child!
You wou'not part with him, mine host?

H.
Who told you
I would not?

Lov.
I but aske you.

Hos.
And I answere.
To whom? for what?

Lov.
To me, to be my Page.

Host.
I know no mischiefe yet the child hath done,
To deserue such a destiny.

Lov.
Why?

Ho.
Go down boy,
And get your break-fast. Trust me, I had rather
Take a faire halter, wash my hands, and hang him
My selfe, make a cleane 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 beene deriu'd downe to vs, and receiu'd
In a succession, for the noblest way
Of breeding vp our youth, in letters, armes,
Faire meine, discourses, ciuill exercise,
And all the blazon of a Gentleman?
Where can he learne to vault, to ride, to fence,
To moue his body gracefuller? to speake
His language purer? or to tune his minde,
Or manners, more to the harmony of Nature
Then, in these nourceries of nobility?—

Host.
I that was, when the nourceries selfe, was noble
And only vertue made it, not the mercate,
That titles were not vented at the drum,
Or common out-cry; goodnesse gaue the greatnesse,
And greatnesse worship: Euery house became
An Academy of honour, and those parts—
We see departed, in the practise, now,
Quite from the institution.

Lov.
Why doe you say so?
Or thinke so enviously? doe they not still
Learne there, the Centaures skill, the art of Thrace,
To ride? or Pollux mystery, to fence?
The Pyrrhick gestures, both to dance, and spring
In armour, to be actiue for the Warres?
To study figures, numbers, and proportions,
May yeeld 'hem great in counsels, and the arts
Graue Nestor, and the wise Vlysses practis'd?
To make their English sweet vpon their tongue!
As reu'rend Chaucer sayes?

Host.
Sir you mistake,
To play Sir Pandarus my copy hath it,
And carry messages to Madam Cresside.
Instead of backing the braue Steed, o'mornings,
To mount the Chambermaid; and for a leape
O'the vaulting horse, to ply the vaulting house:
For exercise of armes, a bale of dice,
Or two or three packs of cards, to shew the cheat,
And nimblenesse of hand: mistake a cloake
From my Lords back, and pawne it. Ease his pockets
Of a superfluous Watch, or geld a iewell
Of an odde stone, or so. Twinge three or foure buttons
From off my Ladyes gowne. These are the arts,
Or seuen liberall deadly sciences
Of Pagery, or rather Paganisme,
As the tides run. To which, if he apply him,
He may, perhaps, take a degree at Tiburne,
A yeare the earlier: come to read a lecture
Vpon Aquinas at S. Thomas a Waterings,
And so goe forth a Laureat in hempe circle!

Lov.
Yo'are tart, mine host, and talke aboue your seasoning,
Ore what you seeme: it should not come, me thinkes,
Vnder your cap, this veine of salt, and sharpnesse!
These strikings vpon learning, now and then?
How long haue you, (if your dul ghest may aske it,)
Droue this quick trade, of keeping the light-heart,
Your Mansion, Palace here, or Hostelry.

Host.
Troth, I was borne to somewhat, Sir, aboue it.

Lov.
I easily suspect that: Mine host, your name.

Hos.
They call me Good-stock.

Lov.
Sir, and you confesse it,
Both i'your language, treaty, and your bearing.

Hos.
Yet all, Sir, are not sonnes o'the white Hen;
Nor can we, as the Songster sayes, come all
To be wrapt soft and warme in fortunes smock:
When she is pleas'd to trick, or trompe mankinde:
Some may be Cotes, as in the cards; but, then
Some must be knaues, some varlets, baudes, and ostlers,
As aces, duizes, 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 sustaine, me thinkes, a man
Of your sagacity, and cleare nostrill, should
Haue made, another choise, then of a place
So sordid, as the keeping of an Inne:
Where euery Iouial Tinker, for his chinke,
May cry, mine host, to crambe, giue vs drinke;
And doe not slinke, but skinke, or else you stinke.
Rogue, Baud, and Cheater, call you by the surnames,
And knowne Synonyma of your profession.

Hos.
But if I be no such; who then's the Rogue,
In vnderstanding, Sir, I meane? who erres?
Who tinkleth then? or personates Thom. Tinker?
Your weazill here may tell you I talke baudy,
And teach my boy it; and you may beleeue him:
But Sir at your owne peril, if I doe not:
And at his too, if he doe lie, and affirme it.
No slander strikes, lesse hurts, the innocent.
If I be honest, and that all the cheat
Be, of my selfe, in keeping this Light Heart,
VVhere, I imagine all the world's a Play;
The state, and mens affaires, all passages
Of life, to spring new scenes come in, goe out,
And shift, and vanish; and if I haue got
A seat, to sit at ease here, i'mine Inne,
To see the Comedy; and laugh, and chuck
At the variety, and throng of humors,
And dispositions, that come iustling in,
And out still, as they one droue hence another:
VVhy, will you enuy me my happinesse?
Because you are sad, and lumpish; carry a Loade-stone
I'your pocket, to hang kniues on; or let rings,
T'entice light strawes to leape at 'hem: are not taken
VVith the alacrities of an host! 'Tis more,
And iustlier, Sir, my wonder, why you tooke
My house vp, Fidlers Hall, the Seate of noyse,
And mirth, an Inne here, to be drousie in,
And lodge your lethargie in the Light Heart,
As if some cloud from Court had beene your Harbinger,
Or Cheape-side debt-Bookes, or some Mistresse charge,
Seeing your loue grow corpulent, gi' it a dyet,
By absence some, such mouldy passion!

Lo.
'Tis guess'd vnhappily.

Fe.
Mine host, yo'are cal'd.

H.
I come, boyes.

L.
Ferret haue not you bin ploughing
VVith this mad Oxe, mine host? nor he with you?

Fer.
For what Sir?

Lov.
VVhy, to finde my riddle out.

Fer.
I hope, you doe beleeue, Sir, I can finde
Other discourse to be at, then my Master
With Hostes, and Host'lers.

Lou.
If you can, 'tis well.
Goe downe, and see, who they are come in, what ghests;
And bring me word.