Host, Fly.
Come Fly, and Legacy, the Bird o' the heart:
Prime Insect of the inn, Professor, Quarter-master,
As ever thou deserved'st thy daily Drink,
Padling in Sack, and licking i' the same,
Now shew thy self an implement of price,
And help to raise a Nap to us, out of nothing.
Thou saw'st 'em married?
Fly. I do think I did,
And heard the words, Phillip, I take thee, Laetice.
I gave her too, was then the father Fly,
And heard the Priest do his part, far as five Nobles
Would lead him i' the Lines of Matrimony.
Host. Where were they married?
Fly. I' the new Stable. Hos. Ominous!
I ha' knows many a Church been made a Stable,
But not a Stable made a Church till now:
I wish 'em Joy. Fly, was he a full Priest?
Fly. He belly'd for it, had his Velvet Sleeves,
And his branch'd Ca**ock, a side sweeping Gown,
All his Formalities, a good cramm'd Divine!
I went not far to fetch him, the next Inn,
Where he was lodg'd, for the action.
Hos. Had they a License!
Fly. License of Love, 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 merriment to night, i' my light Heart, Fly,
And like a Noble Poet, to have had
My last act best: but all fails i' the Plot.
lovel is gone to bed; the Lady Frampull
And Soveraign Pru fall'n out: Tipto and his Regiment
Of Mine-men, all drunk dumb, from his Whoop Barnaby,
To his Hoop trundle: They are his two Tropicks.
No project to rear laughter on, but this,
The Marriage of Lord Beaufort, with Laetitia.
Stay! What's here! The Sattin Gown redeem'd!
And Pru restor'd in't, to her Ladies Grace!
Fly. She is set forth in't! rig'd for some Imployment!
Hos. An Emba**y at least!
Fly. Some treaty of State!
Host. 'Tis a fine tack about! and worth the observing.