THE
WHIGG and TORYs
Friendly DIALOGUE,
OR, Admonition to Unity, as the greatest help and inlet to peace and quietness.
To the Tune of, Hey Boys up go We.
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Whigg.
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NOw now yon Tories pray give ore,
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run not the poor Whiggs down,
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Although they cannot damn and whore
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yet they may love the Crown:
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And love in heart their Soveraign Charles,
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all Reasons will allow,
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As well as those, Gods Laws oppose,
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and to an Altar bow.
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Tory.
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Hold Whigg, you Tongue is too profuse,
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then do more inveigh,
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Against us that were ner his Foes,
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but for him still do pray:
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Wel venture Lives and Forunes too,
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his right for to maintain,
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Whilst you do strive, for to deprive,
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the Heir we would have Reign.
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Whigg.
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Tis our design for to be free
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from dangers that do threaten,
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You know there was a time when we
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by no Men could be beaten:
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You think to get the upper hand,
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and then to make us bow,
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But tis believd, you are deceivd,
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wheres Tory Thompson now?
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Tory.
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Tis true, once Cromwel led your Van,
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you ownd him as you head,
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And him you thought a famous Man,
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who did the King behead:
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For that a Curse upon this Land,
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I fear there doth remain,
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But blest be he, we hope to see,
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after great Charles to Reign.
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Whigg.
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The Pope would England overcome,
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which I hope ner to see,
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If we should subject be to Rome,
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in what a case were we:
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How many Martyrs suffered Death,
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that did refuse to bow
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To Idols, therefore lost their breath,
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but wheres Ned Coleman now?
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Tory.
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Thou pratling Fellow, tis not that
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which we desire to have.
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Thou pratest of thou knowst not what,
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our party to out-brave:
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Though Monmouth is a Princely Man,
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yet we will tell you plain,
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We will deprive him if we can,
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that York in time may Reign.
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Whigg.
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Bet in the interim of time,
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let Subjects all agree,
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It is a matter so srbline,
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it cant determind be:
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By Mortals, that in little time,
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to death must stoop and bow,
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Obey the King in every thing,
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and lets be friendly now.
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Tory.
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Now thou dost like a Christian speak,
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none knows who first shall dye,
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The strong may go before the weak,
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and in his cold Grave lye:
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The young before the old may drop,
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and flye from Death in vain,
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Tis he our breaths must surely stop,
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let whom God pleases Reign.
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