A Dialogue between
Bowman the TORY,
AND
PRANCE the Runagado.
A New SONG.
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Bowman.
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COme murthering Miles, where's your Sedan?
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Or where's the Man you had it from?
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Which you carryed Godfrey in,
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with Ropes about your Necks Boys?
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Nay, where is Mr. Howse's Horse,
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Which had been Sold at Penticost,
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On which thou swore the Corps rid Post,
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above two years before Boys?
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Prance.
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By all the Gods that I adore,
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Mahomet, and whate're I Swore,
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I never saw since, nor before,
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that Godfrey which was Murther'd:
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For Moneys I did Swear and Lye,
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To give the PLOT a deeper Dye,
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Old Tony promis'd to stand by,
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and see our Matters order'd.
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Bowman.
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That Water-Witch it was his Spell,
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That Froze up Styx, the way to Hell,
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The Thames, the Seas, and every Cell,
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just to the Gates of Pluto:
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The Hellespont was Frozen o're,
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To both the Axills, Sea, and Shore,
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That the world might ne'r have motion more
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to save the Whiggs as you do.
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Bowman.
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Your Hambden now is Guilty found,
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'Twill cost him Forty Thousand Pound,
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Pox! Money's but an empty Sound,
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when Knaves deserves to swing Prance,
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Had Forty pound been offered there,
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To all that would come in and Swear,
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He would have faln to Ketches share,
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to teach him Tyburn-string Dance.
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Prance.
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Sounds the Lords out of the Tower,
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In spight of all our Perjur'd Power,
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Damn'd Oats and I are scarce secure,
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all our Intreagues do Falter:
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Out of the Tower without an Oats,
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To give Advice, or Rump of Votes,
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Zblood, we must cut our own Throats,
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to keep out of the Halter.
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Prance.
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Nay, that which plagues me worst of all,
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They kickt me out of Gold-Smiths-Hall,
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And swear that I disgrace them all,
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one Cursed Tory Scratcht me;
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In every place wheree're I come,
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Like Sheep from Woolfs from me Folks run,
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Three times a day I am Drunk alone,
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for fear Old Nick should fetch me.
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Bowman.
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Well Prance, now look but five years back,
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How many Necks thy Tongue made Crack,
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It's time for thine to go to wrack,
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for Perjury and Treason:
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Since thou abhorr'st both Cross and Mass,
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Thou may'st pull down thy Sign o'th Cross,
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And Hang thyself at the same Post,
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it is but Right and Reason.
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Prance.
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I'le first see Rutland, Kenge and Thee,
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Hang'd up for Tory Loyalty,
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I'de be both Hang'd and Damn'd to see,
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with Towzer in the Number,
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After I would not live to Dine,
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But down-right Drunk with Brandy Wine,
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Straight into th' Sea with Herd of Swine,
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for Circumstance I am under.
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