The New Inn. Act 4. Scene 3.

--     To Them Latimer, Beaufort, Lady, Pru, Frank,
Host, Pinnacia, Stuffe.

What more than Thracian Brabarism was this!
Bea. The Battel o' the Centaures, with the Lapithes!
Lad. There is no taming o' the Monster Drink.
Lat. But what a glorious Beast our Tipto shew'd!
He would not discompose himself, the Don!
Your Spaniard ne'er doth discompose himself.
Bea. Yet, how he talkt, and roar'd i' the beggining!
Pru. And ran as fast as a knock'd Marro'bone.
Bea. So they did all at last, when Lovel went down,
And chas'd 'em 'bout the Court.
Lat. For all's Don Lewis!
Or fencing after Euclide!     Lad. I ne'er saw
A lightning shoot so, as my Servant did,
His Rapier was a Meteor, and he wav'd it
Over 'em, like a Comet, as they fled him!
I mark'd his Manhood! every stoop he made
Was like an Eagles at a Flight of Cranes!
(As I have read somewhere.)
Bea. Bravely exprest.
Lat. And like a Lover!
Lad. Of his Valour, I am!
He seem'd a Body, rarifi'd to air!
Or that his Sword, and arm were of a peice,
They went together so! Here comes the Lady.
Bea. A Bouncing Bona roba! 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. I, 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' have 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 Noon, I do assure you.
Pru. Who is your taylor?
Lad. 'Pray you, your Fashioners 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 satisfie this bevy of Ladies,
Of which a Brace, here, long'd to bid you welcome.
Pin. He is one, in truth, I title my protection:
Bid him come up.
Host. Our new Ladies Protection!
What is your Ladiships Stile?
Pin. Countess Pinnacia.
Host. Countess Pinnacia's Man, come to your Lady!
Pru. Your Ladiships Taylor! Mass, Stuffe!
Lad. How Stuffe! He the protection!
Hos. Stuffe looks like a Remnant.
Stu. I am undone, discover'd!
Pru. 'Tis the Suit, Madam,
Now, without Scrupule! 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 Shew is this that you present us with?
Stu. I do beseech your Ladiship 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 look'd for a Lady,
A Dutchess, or a Countess at the least.
Stu. She is my own lawfully begotten Wife,
In wedlock. We ha' been coipled now seven years.
Lad. And why thus masqu'd? 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 call'd me Wife,
And openly dis-Ladied me! though I am dis-Countess'd
I am not yet dis-countenanc'd. These shall see.
Hos. Silence!
Pin. It is a foolish trick, Madam, he has;
For though he be your Taylor, 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 hir'd, and Four Horses; he runs
In his Velvet Jecket thus, to Rumford, Croyden,
Hounslow, or Barnet, the next bawdy Road:
And takes me out, carries me up, and throw's me
Upon a Bed.     Lad. Peace, thou immodest Woman.
She glories in the Bravery o' the Vice.
Lat. 'Tis a queint 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 Cloathes.     Lat. He lies
With his own 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 Soveraign?
Bea. I, marry was it.     Lat. And a main Offence
Commited 'gainst the Soveraignty; being not brought
Home i' the time. Beside, the prophanation,
Which may call on the Censure of the Court.
Host. Let him be blanketed. Call up the Quartermaster.
Deliver him o' er to Fly.     Stu. O good, my Lord.
Host. Pillage the Pinnace.     Lad. Let his Wife be stript.
Bea. Blow off her Upper Deck.
Lat. Tear all her Tackle.
Lad. Pluck the polluted Robes over her Ears;
Or cut them all to peices, make a fire o' them.
Pru. To rags and Cinders, burn th' idolatrous Vestures.
Bea. Fly, and your Fellows, see that the whole censure
Be throughly executed.     Fly. We'll toss him bravely,
Till the stuff sink again.
Host. And send her home,
Divested to her Flannel, in a Cart.
Lat. And let her Footman beat the Bason afore her.
Fly. The Court shall be obey'd.
Hos. Fly, and his Officers,
Will do it fiercely.     Stu. Merciful Queen Pru.
Pru. I cannot help you.
Bea. Go thy ways, Nic. Stuffe,
Thou hast nickt it foar 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.