The New Inn, or, The Light Heart

The Symposium contains the philosopher's great disser-f tation upon love his only one on that subject,' with the exception of the Phcedrus and in it we are able to find resemblances close enough to Jonson's work to justify an assertion that the Symposium was the chief and direct source from which our poet drew.

A similarity of ideas, rather than any word-for-word likeness, marks the closeness of the resemblance; but inasmuch as all the points in Level's speeches can be paralleled in the Greek, and since an acknow ledgment is made of indebtedness to the Symposium, 1 Wks. Lovel, commanded by the Lady Frampul to tell what love is, that she may be sure there is such a thing, expresses amazement that such an infidel should come to Love's lists, and concludes his first speech with a definition: For, what else Is Loue, but the most noble, pure affection Of what is truly beautifull, and faire?

Desire of vnion with the thing beloued? Yes, my friend, and the remark is a just one. And if this is true, love is the love of beauty, and not deformity? And the admission has been already made that love is of that which a man wants and has not? And first let me treat of the nature and state of man ; for the original human being was not like the present, but different. In the first place, the sexes were originally three in number, not two as they are now ; there was man, woman, and the union of two, having a name corresponding to this double nature ; this once had a real existence, but is now lost, and the name only is preserved as a term of reproach.

The Debt to the Philosophers xlvii the second place, the primeval man was round and had four hands and four feet, back and sides forming a circle, one head with two faces, looking opposite ways, set on a round neck and precisely alike ; also four ears, two privy members, and the remainder to correspond. Terrible was their might and strength, and the thoughts of their hearts were great, and they made an attack upon the gods ; and of them is told the tale of Otus and Ephialtes who, as Homer says, dared to scale heaven, and would have laid hands upon the gods. Doubt reigned in the councils of Zeus and of the gods.

At last, after a good deal of reflection, Zeus discovered a way. He spoke and cut men in two, like a sorb-apple which is halved for pickling, or as you might divide an egg with a hair ; and as he cut them one after another he bade Apollo give the face and half of the neck a turn in order that the man might contemplate the section of himself: He was also to heal their wounds and compose their forms. After the division the two parts of man, each desiring his other half, came together, and threw their arms about one another eager to grow into one, and would have perished from hunger without ever making an effort, because they did not like to do anything apart.

And this was being the distruction of them, when Zeus in pity invented a new plan: Level's principal points are embodied in the follow ing lines: And so they doe, that haue vnfit designes, Vpon the parties, they pretend to loue. The bating of affection soone will follow: And Loue is neuer true, that is not lasting. He was con cerned with the relation of man with man, while Jonson's conception of love is based upon nothing but the relation of the sexes the love of man for woman.

But the Love who is the son of the common Aphrodite is essentially common, and has no discrimination, being such as the meaner sort of men feel, and is apt to be of women as well as of youths, and is of the body rather than of the soul the most foolish beings are the objects of this love which desires only to gain an end, but never thinks of accomplishing the end nobly, and therefore does good and evil quite indiscriminately. The goddess who is his mother is far younger, and she was born of the union of male and female, and partakes of both sexes.

The Debt to the Philosophers xlix whereas the love of the noble mind, which is in union with the un changeable, is everlasting. The oration in honor of true valor is however finer than that in praise of " Platonic " love, which must be described as cold and colourless. For sources of this nature we must look to Aristotle's Ethics, just as in the case of love we found the well- V spring of the poet's ideas in Plato's Symposium.

The superior worth of Lovel's second discourse lies in the fact that we have there the universal truths concern ing valor which were expounded by the philosopher, applied by Jonson to the particular case of his own time. There is consequently much more force, vigor, and reality where he has opportunity to give free rein to his propensity for satire. The speeches con cerning love, on the other hand, were put into Level's mouth with no contemporary allusions, expressing with but little expansion the generalities of Plato.

But inasmuch as the poet follows Aristotle's method, by first defining true valor, and then disposing of the approximations of courage, and since some of the parallels approach the exact ness of translations, there is no question that the Ethics was first in his mind when he wrote this portion of The New Inn, There is no reason, of course, for his not being familiar with the writings of both Aris totle and Plato.

In the following pages, in addition to quoting the parallels from Aristotle, I have recorded in the foot-notes references to those dialogues of Plato which treat of the same subject. Lovel begins with a definition of valor: It is the greatest vertue, and the safety Of all mankinde, the obiect of it is danger. A certaine meane 'twixt feare, and confidence: No inconsiderate rashnesse, or vaine appetite Of false encountring formidable things ; But a true science of distinguishing What's good or euill. It springs out of reason, And tends to perfect honesty, the scope Is alwayes honour, and the publique good: It is no valour for a priuate cause.

Hatch's The Moral Philosophy of Aristotle: References are to the book and chapter of the Greek, and to the page in Hatch's translation. The Debt to the Philosophers li [ ' The aspect of virtue to be treated first is Courage. Not only is this virtue the earliest in historical development: Still, looking to things which are fearful and yet within the limits of endurance, these differ in magnitude and in their relative degrees of intensity, as also do things which inspire confidence.

In face even of these the brave man, though dauntless and undaunted, has still the feelings of a man: Yet it is possible to entertain fears of this kind excessively or in sufficiently, and again to regard things which are not fearful as though they were. Of the errors committed in these respects, one form arises from the fear being an unworthy one, another from the fear being immoderate, another from its being inopportune, and so on through manifold conditions. The same principle applies to the circumstances upon which we ground confidence.

That man therefore is a brave man who endures hardship or yields to fear when it is right to do so, though always with a noble motive and to a proper degree and on fitting occasions. Under opposite con ditions again he is equally confident. In a word, the brave man is one whose inward feelings and outward actions are in harmony with a true dignity, and with the standard which Right Reason prescribes.

Now the ' end ' of every activity, in order to be either virtuous or vicious, must be one which correspondents with the fixed attitude of mind in the agent. To the mind of the brave man the display of his bravery is a source of pride and honour. The ' end ' of his every activity, therefore, is a feeling of honour, since the character of every action is determined by its ' end.

Lovel is most emphatic in his denial: Plato, Laches , Now it would seem that the motives for which the citizens undergo dangers are the penalties inflicted by the laws upon cowards and the taunts of their fellows, and, withal, the honours to be won by bravery. But men, when they are heated, and in passion, Cannot consider.

Lovel replies in a positive manner: Then it is not valour. I neuer thought an angry person valiant: Vertue is neuer ayded by a vice. What need is there of anger, and of tumult? When reason can doe the same things, or more? O yes, 'tis profitable, and of vse, It makes vs fierce, and fit to vndertake. But Lovel retorts convincingly: Why so will drink make vs both bold, and rash. Or phrensie if you will, do these make valiant? They are poore helps, and vertue needs them not.

No man is valianter by being angry, But he that could not valiant be without: So, that it comes not in the aid of vertue, But in the stead of it. The Debt to the Philosophers liii Aristotle speaks of this semblance ol valor in much the same way: Men also bring impulse under the category of courage. It is thought that men are brave when they are roused by passion and rush upon their foes, as wild beasts do upon those who have wounded them ; and certainly brave men are passionate, passion being the strongest spur to the encounter of danger.

The New Inn - Wikipedia

In the efficient, or that which makes it, For it proceeds from passion, not from iudgement: Then brute beasts haue it, wicked persons, there It differs in the subiect: Then i'the end, where it respects not truth, Or publique honesty ; but mere reuenge. Now confident, and vndertaking valour, Swayes from the true, two other wayes ; as being A trust in our owne faculties, skill, or strength, And not the right, or conscience o'the catise, That workes it: Then i'the end, which is the victory, And not the honour. Now all that brave men do is inspired by a motive of honour, and passion tends to strengthen this motive in their case.

Animals on the other hand are influenced only by pain. Consequently, though animals rush to meet danger when spurred on by pain or passion, without 1 Nic.

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In the same sense adulterers would be brave, since they do many reckless things for the gratification of their passions. Again, when men are under the influence of passion they are in pain, and when they vent their vengeance they are glad. The reason of their feeling confident in the midst of peril is not bravery, but the fact that they have conquered many a foe in times past. But the ignorant valour That knowes not why it undertakes, but doth it T'escape the infamy merely to which Lovel quickly replies: Is worst of all: That valour lies, i'the eyes o'the lookers on ; And is cal'd valour with a witnesse.

Men who act in ignorance of their danger also appear to be brave ; and their case is not far different from that of the over sanguine. Those, however, who are ' ignorantly brave ' are inferior to sanguine men because they have no real conception of their danger as the sanguine have. Hence it is that sanguine men hold their ground for some time, whereas those who are ' brave in ignorance ' flee away the moment they discover that matters are different to what they expected. The things true valour is exercis'd about, Are pouerty, restraint, captiuity, Banishment, losse of children, long disease: The least is death.

The Debt to the Philosophers lv Aristotle enumerates somewhat the same list of evils: We fear, in fact, all things that are evils, such as infamy, poverty, disease, loss of friends, and death. And ouer-daring is as great a vice, As ouer-fearing. Yet the brave man does not seem to be one who is courageous in face of every object of fear. There are certain evils which a man is positively bound to fear. The remainder of Level's discourse is devoted to the application of these principles to the contemporary conditions which demanded a display of valor in its true sense. These debts to Plato and Aristotle, though they cannot be said to be translations, yet afford such close parallels that one readily appreciates how Feltham, Carew, and others came to emphasize 1 NIC.

To follow Aristotle's reasoning, we must read last for least: The last is death. It is true that Jonson does not follow Aristotle's line of argument on some minor points ; but it seems easier to believe this a printer's error than to receive it as a philosophical utterance. Ivi Introduction Jonson's ability as a translator, to the disparagement of his genius and originality. Minor debts to Greek and Latin authors alluded to in the notes are: Probable Sources for the Court of Love The fact that the proceedings of the court in Act 2, Scene 6 ; Act 3, Scene 2 ; and Act 4, Scene 4 are held before Prue as a sovereign, and the nature of Level's bill of complaint, 2.

In the way of allegory there had been an immense amount written on this subject, largely in French, before his timie ; but treating the Court of Love as a legal institution, there are two names which stand out especially prominent for the record they left of that phase of mediaeval chivalry: Andreas and Martial d'Auvergne. The former, probably about the end of the twelfth century, wrote a book entitled Tractatus amoris et de amoris remedio Andreae cappellani papae Innocentii quarti.

In the British Museum catalogue the title-page reads: Aresta Amorum, sive Processus inter amantes, cum decisionibus Parlamenti: There is also a book called Cupid, made up of extracts from d'Auvergne and d'Aurigny bearing on the same subject, and published in a number of editions previous to One edition is dated In these plays, however, the courts are held before men, and in all other respects the conception is so different from that of The New Inn that there can be no suspicion of their having influenced Jonson.

Much closer does our play lie to the institution portrayed by d'Auvergne ; and while the evidence at hand does not warrant an assertion, yet, considering the evident popularity of that work, we are entirely within the bounds of reason in suggesting that is was from d'Auvergne that Jonson got his idea for the Court of Love which is represented in this play.

Most recent researches 1 point out the folly of interpreting the old works as seriously asserting that the Court of Love was an established institution. This does not affect our point of view, however, and in order to show the nature of the suggestion Jonson was likely to receive, I quote from an account of the Court of Love 2 based on a study of Andreas and d'Auvergne: Courts of Love arose in various places, the object of which was to legislate on all questions of the affections, to arrange disputes between lovers, to pass sentence on any lover who was in the wrong, and generally to establish a system of jurisprudence, which should be useful in determining any vexed questions which might arise between lovers themselves, and so to render unnecessary any appeal to the 1 W.

Rowbotham, The Troubadours and Courts of Love, p. Iviii Introduction courts, except as a last resource. Of these courts, the most celebrated were those of Queen Eleanor of England, of the ladies of Gascony, of the Viscountess of Narbonne, of the Countess of Champagne, and of the Countess of Flanders. Of these it will be seen that the first three, which were likewise the most celebrated, were in the English dominions, and exercising as they did a wide jurisdiction over the neighbouring district, to these would be submitted the disputes of the English troubadours and their ladyloves. There were also several courts in Provence, those of Pierrefeu, Signe, Romanin, and Avignon being the most celebrated.

History has preserved to us the names of the ladies who judged at these courts. To constitute the court large numbers of ladies assembled. We are led to assume that one of the ladies was appointed the president. Firstly, from the fact that many of the courts took their name from some leading lady, who, on that account alone, would seem to have been in superior authority to the others, as for instance the Court of Queen Eleanor of England, the Court of the Countess of Champagne, etc.

Secondly, from such expressions as these in the judgments: A process between a young lady and a lover of hers. The com plaint of the lady plaintiff was that once she remembered the defendant as gay and joyous as could be, neat in his attire, pleasant, gracious, and agreeable. That now is all changed. The defendant has become pensive, dreaming, and melancholy. He seems to be tired of life. If she speaks to him, he ponders a long time before giving a reply. Probable Sources for the Court of Love lix If any one gives him a bouquet, he tears all the flowers to pieces.

And directly he hears the jongleurs begin to play, tears fill his eyes and he can only gasp for breath. He is cold when it is hot, and hot when it is cold. On the part of the defendant it was urged, that in the service of love, pain and sorrow were necessities ; that there was never a joy which was not purchased at the expense of a hundred griefs. The loyal lover, it was maintained, was always the most sorrowful. The defendant had fully resolved to abandon all love, and to recover and regain the time which he had lost and spent upon it.

After much more to the same effect, the defendant begged the permission of the court to be allowed to depart from the service of love for evermore. The plaintiff, however, replied that the defendant ought not to have any such permission ; that any other objects in life save love, such as money or the goods of this world, were of inferior conse quence ; for, indeed, if he lived and enjoyed good health, that was sufficient.

She maintained further, that the foundation of all his sor rows was pure fantasy and should not be attended to. The defendant declared that he would as soon die as live. He declared further, that would to God he could become joyful 1 But no one could make him so. For when he remembered the joys and the follies of the past, there was no joy for him, but he could with difficulty restrain himself from weeping.

The arguments on both sides having been heard, the court decided that the defendant should be sent to the country, and should remain a prisoner in beautiful gardens for the space of a month, in order that he might see the beautiful flowers and verdure, and enjoy their beauty. The court likewise ordained that the plaintiff should accom pany him, and should remain with him during the whole of the said month, and indeed until he was quite cured.

In filling in the details of the procedure of the Court, he seems to have been familiar with certain legal formulae employed in that curious chivalric institution, the trial by combat. This hear, you justices, that I have this day neither eat, drunk, nor 1 Ibid. Ix Introduction yet have upon me either bone, stone, ne glass, or any enchantment, sorcery or witchcraft, where through the power of the Word of God might be inleased or diminished, and the devil's power increased, and that my appeal is true, so help me God and his saints, and by this Book.

And than the conestable shall make calle by the marchall the ap- pellaunt agayne, and shall make hym ley his hande as he did afore upon the masseboke, and shall say, A. And the othe made he shalbe led agayne to his place. In the same wise shall be doon to the defendaunt. The Host's direction to the clerk of the Court to take down the appearance of the appellant and de fendant and how accoutred and armed they come finds a prototype in the Black Book: The conestable clerke shall write and set in registre the coomyng and the houre of the entryng of the appellaunt, and hou that he entris the liste on foote,.

In the same maner shalbe doon to the defendaunt. Probable Sources for the Court of Love Ixi Trundle's command for silence on pain of imprison ment also seems like an echo from the chivalric lists that stand out in a living picture as we read that old record: And than the conestable shall comaunde the marchall for to cry at the foure corners of the lystys in the maner that folowith, Oyez, oyez, oyez, we charge and comaunde by the kynges conestable and merchall, that noon of grete vertue and of litill value, of what condicion or nacione that he bee, be so hardy hens forewarde for to come nygh the listes by foure fote, nor to speke nor to crye, nor to make countenaunce ne token, nor semblance nor noyse, whereby nowthir of theise two partiez, A.

The form of the ordinances found in the Black Book affords a very close parallel in the passages above cited ; but Dugdale 2 prints a version of the oaths, etc. It is suffi cient to have established the point suggested by Gilford 4 that the poet was drawing on fact, not fancy, when he introduced such curious forms is his court- scene. The question of sources for the general idea of the Court of Love, as far as it is developed in 1 Ibid.

All that has been warranted by the evidence at hand is to offer d'Auvergne's book as a possible and probable source from which the poet might draw. The first, and more important one is, In what direction was the transfer or borrowing made?

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The second, closely linked with this, asks, By whom and under what circumstances was the loan or theft made? Critics, with one exception, have either been in favor of The New Inn as containing the original version, or else have remained non-committal. But the records of the various opinions are confusing, owing to the fact that several were published at about the same time.

In Bullen wrote: Weber's explanation, which Dyce accepted, is that Shirley introduced these passages when he revised Fletcher's play. Fleay is of opinion that " Love's Pilgrimage " was written as early as , and that Ben Jonson was the borrower. He urges that the disputed passages are "distinctly Fletcher's in style and metre " ; but this is a very bold assertion, for nothing could be more Jonscnian than Colonel Tipto's elaborate enumeration of his various articles of finery New Inn 2.

Nor is it pos sible to accept Mr. As a fee was exacted by Herbert, there must have been an alteration in the play. This alteration was no doubt the transference of a considerable part of 1. The alteration was, of course, made by Jonson. This cannot be correct. Shirley " corrected," i. Weber gives the Herbert entry in full, and Shirley is not mentioned.

We must either attribute the al teration to Jonson or suppose that these passages were part of the original play, and stolen by him for The New Inn, an hypothesis which I now abandon as untenable. But until the respective dates of these three articles are clearly distinguished, the matter is very perplexing, especially if the reader goes at it 1 Diet.

In the quotations above are included the known facts and various deductions in regard to the relation ship of these plays. Ward, the last to sum up the evidence, is non-committal: He quotes seven lines, asking: Every poor jade has his whole peck, and tumbles Up to his ears in clean straw ; and every bottle Shews at the least a dozen ; when the truth is, sir, There's no such matter, not a smell of provender, Not so much straw as would tie up a horse-tail, Nor amy thing i' the rack, but two old cobwebs, And so much hay as had been a hen's nest.

Oliphant makes the following analysis of the relationship of the two plays: Omitting the first line and the last five lines of I. Ib, of the remaining 74, 24 are absolutely identical with lines in The New 1 Hist, Eng. That the reader may have firmer ground on which to found his judgment, I quote in full those passages of Love's Pilgrimage which are the subject of discussion: A room in an inn.

Enter, severally, Incubo and Diego. Signior Don Diego, and mine host, save thee I Diego. I thank you, Master Baily. Why, how should I have answer'd? No smoke nor steam out-breathing from the kitchen? There's little life i' th' hearth, then. That is his friendship, hearkening for the spit, And sorry that he cannot smell the pot boil.

Strange An inn should be so curs'd, and not the sign Blasted nor wither'd ; very strange 1 three days now, And not an egg eat in it, or an onion. I think they ha' strew'd the highways with caltraps, I No horse dares pass 'em: I did never know A week of so sad doings, since I first Stood to my sign-post. Gossip, I have found The root of all: Do, call, And put 'em on in haste: Dost thou think Her good face e'er will know a man in cuerpo?

In single body thus? In squirting hose and doublet? Signior, no ; There went more to't ; there were cloaks, gowns, cassocks, And other paramentos: His cloak and rapier here! What means your worship? Bring forth thy husband's sword.

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And now his cloak. Here, cast it up. I mean, Gossip, to change you luck, and bring you guests. Why, is there charm in this? Now walk ; But not the pace of one that runs on errands ; For want of gravity in an host is odious. You may remember, gossip, if you please, Your wife being then the infanta of the gipsies, And yourself governing a great man's mules then, Me a poor squire at Madrid, attending A master of ceremonies ; but a man, believe it, That knew his place to the gold-weight ; and such, Have I heard him oft say, ought every host Within the Catholic King's dominions Be in his own house.

A master of ceremonies ; At least vice-master, and to do nought in cuerpo ; That was his maxim. I will tell thee of him: He would not speak with an ambassador's cook, See a cold bake-meat from a foreign part, In cuerpo: But thus far no very decisive evidence presents itself. The situation of this scene at the very beginning of the play lends itself readily to the argument that it re presents insertions to supply pages most easily lost. And the absence of a line like, Except my gloues, the natiues of Madrid, is more easily explained as an omission in a copy than as an addition to a borrowing.

On the other hand, the parallels in The New Inn seem better; if the lines above represent a copy, why did the borrower make changes for the worse? But if a comparison of this first passage with its parallels in the Jonson comedy does not afford a con vincing solution of the difficulty, the next transfer, which corresponds to 3. In the extract which follows, lines absolutely identical are marked with an asterisk ; the variations are indicated by italics. Lazaro I Enter Lazaro. Ho-w do the horses? Would you would go and sef, sir! A plague of all jades! Faith, Lazaro, We are to blame, to use the poor dumb servitors So cruelly.

He had four shoes, And good ones, when he came ; 'tis a strange wonder, With standing still he should cast three. Oh, Lazaro, The devil's in this trade! Once every week I meet with such a knock to mollify me, Sometimes a dozen to awake my conscience ; Yet still I sleep securely. Certain, master, We must use better dealing. Faith, for mine own part, Not to give ill example to our issues. H'as ever oats in's cloak-bag to prevent us, And therefore 'tis a meritorious office So tithe him soundly. That may do well too, And no doubt 'tis but venial.

But, good Lazaro, Have you a care of understanding horses, Horses with angry heels, gentlemen's horses, Horses that know the world: And look into our dealings. As sure as we live, These courtiers' horses are a kind of Welch prophets ; Nothing can be hid from 'em: Steal but a little longer, Till I am lam'd too, and we'll repent together ; It will not be above two days. By that time I shall be well again, and all forgot, sir. Why, then, Fll stay for thee. It is palpably evident that Lazaro is called in by Diego simply to 1 Ibid.

The lame and impotent con- 1 elusion is equally forced. Its relation to the facts ; of the play will not bear analysis: Theodosia and Philippe have just arrived at the inn, yet we learn of their horses standing fasting, losing shoes, etc. In Jonson's play, this scene comes in the third act. Seventy-four lines in a body represent a selection from more than a hundred in The New Inn. Com pression is further evidenced by putting the dialogue into the mouths of two persons only, and those two the host and hostler who are wont to practise such tricks.

I fail to see how this can be explained in an argument of a change from Fletcher to Jonson, and I certainly cannot conceive that either of these play wrights would make an assignment of dialogue so flat and pointless ; from Fly, Peirce, Peck, and the others in the tap-room of the Light Heart, it comes quite naturally ; here it is out of place.

But if we are satisfied as to the direction of the transfer, the second question still remains for con sideration. The known facts in the case, as above cited by Fleay, justify a conclusion that the changes were made in , and that Shirley was not the reviser. But although accepting the view that the borrowings were made during Jonson's life and perhaps with his consent, I cannot believe, with Oliphant or Fleay, that he had anything to do with Love's Pilgrimage, either before or after Many of the variant readings of Fletcher's comedy are so unnecessary and so inferior that it is difficult to form a theory that shall account for such retrogressions in an in different play -dresser, much less ascribe them to Jonson himself.

Why substitute prevent for affront, meritorious office for office meritorious, truth for slight, gentlemen's for nobility? If we are justified in believing that the borrowings were made from a player's copy of The New Inn, and that Jonson rigorously revised his play before giving it to the press two years after its failure, all the difficulties are brushed away, and the reason for the variants becomes evident.

But if it is necessary to credit these borrowings to the version of The New Inn published in , we must needs remain in a state of wonder at the mental make-up of the unknown reviser of Fletcher's comedy. The author has entered so fully into the characters and conduct of this unfortunate comedy, that little remains to be said on either. The first act is very well written, and many passages in it might be pointed out, not only marked with spirit, but elegance, and poetic feeling: The characters are, as usual, correctly maintained ; but the inferior ones are so ill conceived, that more disgust than pleasure is gener ated by the poet's rigid attention to the suum cuique.

With respect to the conduct of the piece, it seems very extraordinary that Jonson, during his elaborate detail of it, should not have been once struck with its palpable absurdities. To pass over the episode of Nick Stuff and his Pinnacia, which is merely ridiculous, what must we think of a lord who abandons his family, turns travelling tinker, show-man, and finally inn keeper, because his wife had brought him two daugh ters! But it is needless to proceed the fact seems to be, that poor Jonson, though his faint and faltering tongue could scarcely shake out a few lines by way of apology, yet clung, c with a pertinacity, which those who cannot pity and forgive, have no touch of human kindness, no knowledge of human feeling, to the fond hope that judgment was still ' in the field,' and that the palsy ; which had long chilled his blood, and beset his enfeebled limbs with pain, had not seized the nobler parts, nor injured the pristine sanity and vigour of his mind: Haec cura et cineri vixit inusta suo!

Apart from the question of the consideration due to an eminent artist on account of past services, Jonson's remark that ' the only decay, or hurt of the best men's reputation with the people is, their wits have out lived the people's palates,' what ever its general truth, will not apply to the case of this unfortunate comedy. Its plot is absurd in parts grossly so particularly the disguise of the mother as a degraded Irishwoman: Yet some of the characters are pleasing ; nobility of breeding is well preserved in the Host a nobleman in disguise ; there is some vivacity in Prue to whom, as originally 1 Wks.

Extracts from the Critics Ixxiii named Cis, the public for some mysterious reason took objection , and a touch of Portia-like conflict between high spirit and feeling in Lady Frampul. Ever since Lamb gathered some ex cerpts from the more high-toned and elaborate pas sages of The New Inn, or The Light Heart, and com mended in them 'the poetical fancy and elegance of mind of the supposed rugged old bard,' it has been the fashion to do justice if not something more than justice to the literary qualities of this play; which no doubt contains much vigorous and some graceful writing, and may now and then amuse a tolerant reader by its accumulating and culminating absurdities of action and catastrophe, character, and event.

The setting of this play has a romantic cast, and with a different treatment the play might have been made a ' romantic ' comedy. As it stands it can scarcely be called such; too much bulk is devoted to the low comedy of the servant scenes and to the incident of the tailor's wife, while the other parts have not the right touch ; the treatment is a surface one without being delicate or light. The discourses on love and honor [sic] are disproportion ately long, and the work as a whole is heavy.

Yet it is quite diverse from Jonson's typical manner. There is in the main action no attempt at satire, there are no intriguers and no victims, and the resolution is a result of chance, whose end is to make marriages, not to expose folly and vice. On the whole, then, the play is nearer the romantic than the satiro-comic type, but when contrasted with The Case Is Altered, it shows that Jonson's hand had lost the cunning of earlier years.

No changes of reading have been made ; spelling, punctuation, capitalization, and italics are reproduced, and an effort is made to retain all the peculiarities of the original. Pagination is wanting in the octavo volume; this copy, in so far as is pos sible, follows its original in the arrangement of the text. The lines were not numbered in previous editions. After a single citation only exceptions are noted. The Variants are designed to show all changes of form.

Only those changes of spelling and punctuation are noted which are especially suggestive. OR, The light Heart. As it was neuer afted, but moft negligently play'd, by fome, the Kings Seruants. By the Author, Ben lonfon. Quam fpectatoris faftidia ferre fuperbi. If not fo much, would I had beene at the charge of thy better litterature.

I will as punctually an- fwer: To fee, and to bee feene. To make a generall mufter of them- f clues in their clothes of credit: G 10 than , f.

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And by their confidence of rifing between the Actes, in oblique lines, make affidauit to the whole houfe, of their not vnderftanding one s Scene. Arm'd, with this praeiudice, as the Stage-furniture, or Arras- clothes, they were there, as Specta tors, away. For the faces in the hangings, and they beheld alike. And doe truft my felfe, and my Booke, rather to thy rufticke candor, than all the pompe of their pride, and fo- lemne ignorance, to boote.

Fare 35 thee well, and fall too. But, firft 25 Armed G praeiudice] prejudice f. He Lord FRAMPVL, a noble Gentleman, well edu cated, and bred a Schollar, in Oxford, was married yong, to a vertuous Gentlewoman, Syllys daughter of the South, whofe worth though he truly enioy'd hee ne- uer could rightly value ; but, as many greene Husbands giuen ouer to their ex- trauagant delights, and some peccant hu mors of their owne occafion'd in his o- uer louing wife, so deepe a melancholy by his leauing her in the time of her lying in, of her fecond daughter, fhee hauing brought him only two daughters, Fran ces, and Lcztitia: A regular change, -or to-our II occasioned W, G 13?

Since when, neither of them had beene heard of. Here begins our Comoedy. Hauing reueal'd his quality before, to the Hoft. In the fecond Act. But, hee failing of his 6 5 word, the Lady had commanded a ftan- dard of her owne beft apparrell to bee brought downe: The Lady being put in mind, that fhee is there alone without other company of 7 women, borrowes by the aduice of Pru the Hofts sonne of the houfe, whom they dreffe with the Hofts confent, like a Lady, and fend out the Coachman, with the empty Coach, as for a kinfwoman of her 75 Ladifhips, Miftreffe Lcetitia Sylly, to beare her company: Who attended with his 50 lodged W, G 53 lady's W ladys G 55 install'd f.

Here begins, at the third Act, the Epita- fis, or bufineffe of the Play. To whom, hee firft by definition, and after by argument anfweres, prouing, and de- fcribing the effects of Loue, fo viuely, as 78 Chair-woman , 79 oddly , councell] Council , counsel W, G 86 inferior G 89 lady's W, G 90 Soveraigns , sovereign's W, G 92 at the third Act ] om. G 96 assign'd W, G The Argument 11 fhe, who had derided the name of Loue lo s before, hearing his difcourfe, is now fo taken both with the Man, and his matter, as fhee confeffeth her felfe enamour'd of him, and, but for the ambition fhee hath to enioy the other houre, had prefently " declar'd her felfe: And the Court diffolues, vpon a newes s brought, of a new Lady, a newer Coach, and a new Coachman call'd Barnaby.

They are both condem'd, and cenfur'd, fhee ftript like a Doxey, and lent home a foote. In the MO interim, the fecond houre goes on, and the queftion, at fute of the Lady Frampul, is chang'd from hue to valour; which en ded, he receiues his fecond kiffe, and by the rigor of the Soueraigne, fals into a fit MS of melancholy, worfe, or more defpe- rate then the firft. The fifth, and laft Act is the Cata- ftrophe, or knitting vp of all, where Fly brings word to the Hoft, of the Lord Beau- i S o forts being married priuately in the new ftable, to the fuppofd Lady, his fonne; which the Hoft receiues as an omen of mirth.

The Hoft encounters them, with this rela- Pru ] Prue G passim condem'd] condemn'd , condemned W, G a foote] a foot a-foot f. G retrieve f. The Argument 13 tion of L. Beauforts mariage, which is fe- conded by the L. Larimer, and all the fer- uants of the houfe. In this while, L. Beau- l6 fort comes in, and profeffes it, calls for his bed, and bride-bowle, to be made ready, the Hoft forbids both, fhewes whom hee hath married, and difcouers him to be his fonne, a boy. And all are contented. The , L. With fome fhort Characterifme of the chiefe Actors.

GOod-ftocke, the Hoft playd well alias, the Lord Frampul. He pretends to be a Gen tleman, and a Scholer, neglected by the times, turnes Hoft, and keepes an Inne, the Signe of the light Heart, in Barnet: He is knowne to haue beene Page, to the old Lo. Beaufort, follow 'd him in the French warres, af ter a companion of his Jludies, and left Guardian to his fonne. He was one, that acted well too.

Who is alfo called Stote, and Vermin, is Lovels feruant, a fellow of a quick, nimble wit, knowes the manners and affections of people, and can make profitable, and timely difcoueries of them. A poore chare-woman in the Inne, with one eye, that tends the boy, is thought the Irifh beg- 3 ger that fold him, but is truly the Lady Frampul, who left her home melancholique, and iealous that her Lord lou'd her not, becaufe she brought him none but daughters, and Hues, vnknowne to her husband, as he to her.

Suppofed the Lady Frampul, being re puted his fole daughter, and heire, the Barony de- fcending vpon her, is a Lady of great fortunes, and beauty, but phantajlicall: The Chamber-maid, is elected Soue- raigne of the Sports in the Inne, gouernes all, com- 45 mands, and fo orders, as the Lord Latimer is excee dingly taken with her, and takes her to his wife, in conclujion. A Knight, and Colonell, hath the luck to thinke well of himfelfe, without a riuall, talkes glorioufly of any thing, but very J "el- dome is in the right. He is the Ladies ghejl, and 60 her feruant too ; but this day vtterly neglects his feruice, or that him.

Is the Parajite of the Inne, vifiter generall of the houfe, one that had beene a Jlrolling Gipfee, but now is reclam'd, to be Inflamer of the reckonings. The Tapjler, a Through-fare of Newes. A broken Citizen, an in and in man. A cheater, his champion. That the nice Jlomack, would ha' this or that, And being ask'd, or vrg'd, it knowes not what: When fharpe, or fweet, haue beene too much a feajl, is And both out liu'd the palate of the ghejl. Beware to bring fuch appetites to the Jlage, They doe confeJJTe a weake, Jick, queajie age, And a fhrew'd grudging too of ignorance, When clothes and faces 'boue the men aduance: II crowd W, G 13 sto mach f.

I Am not pleas'd, indeed, you are i' the right; Nor is my houfe pleas'd, if my figne could fpeake, The figne o' the light Heart. There, you may read it ; So may your matter too, if he looke on't. A heart weigh'd with a fether, and out weigh'd too: A brayne-child o' mine owne! And if his worfhip thinke, here, to be melancholy, In fpight of me or my wit, he is deceiu'd; I will maintayne the Rebus 'gainft all humors, And all complexions i' the body of Man, That's my word, or i' the Ifle of Britaine!

You haue reafon good mine holt. Sir I haue rime too. Whether it be by chance or art, A heauy purfe makes a light Heart. A Room in the Inn. Enter Host, folio-wed by Ferret. I muft ha' iouiall guefts to driue my ploughs, And whittling boyes to bring my harueft home, Or I f hall heare no Flayles thwack. Or poring through a multiplying glaffe, 30 Vpon a captiu'd crab-loufe, or a cheefe-mite To be diffected, as the fports of nature, With a neat Spanifh needle! Speculations That doe become the age, I doe confeffe! As meafuring an Ants egges, with the Silke-wormes, 35 By a phantaftique inftrument of thred, Shall giue you their iuft difference, to a haire!

Or else recouering o' dead flyes, with crums! Another queint conclufion i' the phyficks] Which I ha feene you bulie at, through the key-hole 40 But neuer had the fate to fee a flye Ent. Aliue i' your cups, or once heard, drinke mine hoft, Or fuch a chearfull chirping charme come from you. A buzzing of mine About a flye! G 25 fort night f. G 42 chearfull] chearful , , W cheerful G Act i. I of each act regularly om.

G Exceptions are noted. W and regularly Lovet. Take vp your harbour there ; There are both flyes and fleas, and all variety Of vermine, for infpection, or diffection. We ha fet our reft vp here, Sir, i'your Heart. Sir fet your heart at reft, you fhall not doe it: Vnleffe you can be iouiall. Your lodging here, and wi'your daily dumps, , 5 Is a mere libell 'gayri my houfe and me ; And, then, your fcandalous commons. Sir, they doe fcandall me, vpo' the road, here A poore quotidian rack o'mutton, roafted, Drie, to be grated!

It is againft my free-hold, my inheritance, My Magna charta, Cor ketificat, To drinke fuch balder dafh, or bonny clabbee! And mine's the houfe of wine, Sack, fay's my bufh, Be merry, and drinke Sherry ; that's my poefie! For I fhall neuer ioy i'my light heart, 3 So long as I conceiue a fullen gheft, Or any thing that's earthy! I care not if I be. But airy alfo, Not to defraud you of your rights ; or trench 35 Vpo' your priviledges, or great charter, For thofe are euery hoftlers language now Say, you were borne beneath thofe fmiling ftarres, Haue made you Lord, and owner of the Heart, Of the Light Heart in Barnet; fuffer vs 40 Who are more Saturnine, t'enioy the fhade Of your round roofe yet.

Sir I keepe no f hades Nor fhelters, I: He'll make you a bird of night, Sir. Bleffe you child, You'l make you felues fuch. That your fon mine hoft? J to his child o the by Hojl. He's all the fonnes I haue Sir. Goes he to fchoole? O Lord, Sir, he prates Latine s And 'twere a parrat, or a play-boy. Thou Commend'ft him fitly.

To the pitch, he flies, Sir, Hee'l tell you what is Latine for a looking-glaffe, A beard-brufh, rubber, or quick-warming pan. G I child] SN. G 2 'That] That f. This, in your fcurrile dialect. But my Inne Knowes no fuch language. That's becaufe, mine hoft, s You doe profeffe the teaching him your felfe. Sir, I doe teach him fomewhat. By degrees, And with a funnell, I make Ihift to fill The narrow veflell, he is but yet, a bottell. O let him lofe no time, though. Sir, be do's not. And leffe his manners. I prouide for thofe, too. Come hither Franke, speake to the gentleman In Latine: He is melancholy ; fay, I long to fee him merry, and fo would treat him.

Subtrijlis vifu' es effe aliquantulum patri, s Qui te laute excipere, etiam ac tractare gejlit. Tell him, I feare it bodes vs fome ill luck, His too referuedneffe. Veretur pater, Ne quid nobis mali ominis apportet ijle Nimis praeclufus vultus. Who told you I would not? I but aske you. To me, to be my Page. I know no mifchiefe yet the child hath done, To deferue fuch a deftiny. Go down boy, 35 And get your break-faft.

Then dam him to that defperate courfe of life. Call you that defperate, which by a line Of inftitution, from our Anceftors, Hath beene deriu'd downe to vs, and receiu'd In a fucceffion, for the nobleft way Of breeding vp our youth, in letters, armes, 45 Faire meine, difcourfes, ciuill exercife, And all the blazon of a Gentleman? Where can he learne to vault, to ride, to fence, To moue his body gracefuller? I that was, when the nourceries felfe, was noble, And only vertue made it, not the mercate, That titles were not vented at the drum, 55 Or common out-cry ; goodneffe gaue the greatneffe, And greatneffe worfhip: Euery houfe became An Academy of honour, and those parts We fee departed, in the practife, now, Quite from the inftitution.

Why doe you fay fo? The Pyrrhick geftures, both to dance, and fpring In armour, to be actiue for the Warres? W, G 39 damn f. As reu'rend Chaucer fayes? Inftead of backing the brave Steed, o' mornings, To mount the Chambermaid ; and for a leape O'the vaulting horfe, to ply the vaulting houfe: Eafe his pockets Of a fuperfluous Watch ; or geld a iewell Of an odde ftone, or fo. Twinge three or foure buttons so From off my Ladyes gowne. Thefe are the arts, Or feuen liberall deadly fciences Of Pagery, or rather Paganifme, As the tides run. Thomas a Waterings, And fo goe forth a Laureat in hempe circle!

Yo'are tart, mine hoft, and talke aboue your feafoning, Ore what you feeme: Thefe ftrikings vpon learning, now and then? How long haue you, if your dul gheft may aske it, Droue this quick trade, of keeping the light-heart, Your Manfion, Palace here, or Hoftelry. I eafily suspect that: Mine hoft, your name. They call me Good-ftock. Sir, and you confeffe it, Both i'your language, treaty, and your bearing. Yet all, Sir, are not fonnes o'the white Hen ; Nor can we, as the Songjler fayes, come all To be wrapt foft and warme in fortunes smock: When ihe is pleas'd to trick, or trompe mankinde: Some may be Cotes, as in the cards ; but, then Some muft be knaues, fome varlets, baudes, and oftlers, As aces, duizes, cards o'ten, to face it Out, i'the game, which all the world is.

But, 7t being i'your free-will as 'twas to choofe What parts you would fuftaine, me thinkes, a man no Of your fagacity, and cleare noftrill, fhould Haue made, another choife, then of a place So fordid, as the keeping of an Jnne: Where euery louial Tinker, for his chinke, May cry, mine hoft, to crambe, giue vs drinke; s And doe not flinke, but fkinke, or elfe you Jlinke. Rogue, Baud, and Cheater, call you by the furnames, And knowne Synonyma of your profeflion.

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. Why, will you enuy me my happineffe? Ferret haue not you bin ploughing With this mad Oxe, mine hoft? Why, to finde my riddle out. W, G Ferret] Fer. A melancholy gentlemen, Lord Lovel, has been lodged there some days before.

In the third act, he is demanded by Lady Frampul what love is and describes so vividly the effects of love that she becomes enamoured of him. Lady Frampul's chambermaid, Prudence, dresses up as queen for the day and presides over a mock " court of love ". As part of their theatrical project, Prudence and Lady Frampul decide to dress up the Host's adopted son Franck in a cross-gender attire as Laetitia, a waiting-woman.

Lord Beaufort, guest to Lady Frampul, falls in love with Laetitia and marries her in secret, only to be denounced for marrying a boy.

The New Inn, or The Light Heart

But in the end, in a series of far-fetched revelations, Frank turns out to be a woman, Lady Frampul's long-lost sister. The Host proves to be their father, Lord Frampul, in disguise, and Laetitia's Irish nurse reveals to be their mother. From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia. Logan and Denzell S. Works by Ben Jonson. Ben Jonson folios English Renaissance theatre.