The New Inn. Act 1. Scene 1.

Host, Ferret.

I Am not pleas'd, indeed, you are i' the right;
Nor is my House pleas'd, 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 weigh'd with a Feather, and out weigh'd too:
A Brain-child o' my own! and I am proud on't!
And if his Worship think, here, to be melancholy,
In spight of me or my Wit, he is deceiv'd;
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!

Fer.
You have Reason good mine Host.

Hos.
Sir I have Rhime too.
Whether it be by chance or Art,
A heavy Purse makes a light Heart.
There 'tis exprest! 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 Ton.
I am an Inn-keeper, 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, and those rop'd round with Pack-thred,
Drawn thorow Birdlime! a fine subtilty!
Or poring through a Multiplying-glass,
Upon a captiv'd 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 Ants Eggs, with the Silk-worms,
By a Phantastick Instrument of Thred,
Shall give you their just difference to a Hair!
Or else recovering o' dead Flies with Crums!
(Another quaint conclusion i' the Physicks)
Which I ha' seen you busie at, through the Key-hole —
But never had the Fate to see a Fly ———

Ent. Lovel.
Alive i' your Cups, or once heard, drink mine Host,
Or such a chearful chirping Charm come from you.