A NEW SONG:
BEING A
DIALOGUE
BETWEEN A
WHIGG and TORY
Concerning the
Election of Sheriffs.
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TORY,
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Come, let us all at last agree, Debates a Cursed Fashion:
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Tis only base Disloyalty, Infe[st]s the King and Nation.
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Whig.
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HOw! What, in such a Case Unite?
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Twould be a plain Repentance:
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A Whig, can ner turn Proselyte,
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Before he hears his Sentence.
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Tory.
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Whence are you thus inspird with Zeal?
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Sure tis the Devils Motion;
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Two Sheriffs ner made a Common-weal,
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Thats but a Formal Notion.
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Whig.
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In troth, the depth you do not see,
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Of all our Stir and Fury;
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Our Guilty Crimes must ner go Free,
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But by a well-pickt Jury.
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Tory.
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If then it be self Preservation,
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That you from Sheriffs claim,
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Why may not We, and half the Nation,
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Expect and seek the same!
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Whig.
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Alas! with us tis otherwise,
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Though we dont draw our Swords;
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We may be hangd for being wise,
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Or speaking dangerous Words.
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Tory.
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But now you see, by the Effect,
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Since all is past and done,
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That North and Rich are true Elect,
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And have the Conquest won!
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Whig.
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Then needs must Tyburn have us all,
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For which we were created;
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For when You rise, We needs must fall,
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And with our Noise be hated.
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Tory.
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Take heed then of the good Old Cause,
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Be sure to rule your Tongue;
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These honest Men must rule by the Laws,
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Which ner will do you wrong.
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Whig.
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Tell me no more of wholsome Laws,
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Which hold with Reason still;
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By Factions I must get Applause,
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And gratifie my Will.
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Tory.
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Come Whig, tis time to leave this way,
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And change your bad Condition;
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In all things now the King obey,
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And not your own Ambition.
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