A DIALOGUE BETWEEN A Papist and a Quaker.  QUAKER. 
MY Friend well met, I wonder where thou'st been  
What hast thou flown for fear thou shouldst  
Sure thy Religion ened so good as out be seen  
We fear no Magistrates, not higher Powers;  
The Light within us now so brightly shine,  
That now methinks thy Tapers much declines;  
Yea, Yea, my friend it is without all doubt,  
Our Light within, that puts your Tapers out!  
I find my Friend, that you have nor a Lay Man,  
That can compare with any yea and nay Man.  PAPIST. 
Why do you tax me for forsaking those?  
Who is they find me will my Corpse dispose,  
First to the Gallows, thence unto the Gates,  
Where some of our Saints have had their Fates,  
There to be placed unto the view of such,  
Who if there were a thousand, would not grudge,  
But laughing say, here is the Corpse of those,  
That would our King most willingly depose;  
Forth from his Throne, and made it their Delight;  
To Rob poor English Protestants of Right.  QUAKER. 
Why dost thou think that we have no Design?  
To make our power full as great as thine!  
What though we do hold forth the Pope is naught,  
And that no Bulls nor Pardons can be bought,  
You'll find our Faith will prove to be as good  
As yours, who by the publick's understood;  
Before those people Protestant's we roar,  
And do exclaim, and say the Pope's a Whore  
Of Babylon, yet you shall find,  
That we are clearly of another mind.  PAPIST. 
Well done my Friend, it is great Policy  
To cloak such choice Designs by secrecy;  
You by pretended Zeal have such a wile,  
That may poor simple Protestants beguile.  
They take you though you're Wolves, to be but Sheep,  
And think by such they may securely sleep;  
Not thinking such poor Innocents' can be,  
Such plotting, Firing, Blood suckers as we.  
When if they should but search, I fear they'd find,  
That ye are Wolves, for murdering Sheep designed.  QUAKER. 
I pray thee Friend, now do but mind the Light  
Which is within us, and doth shine so bright;  
It doth put out the Light of others Eyes,  
That they poor Souls, cant see their Enemies.  
They are deluded by our yea and nay,  
And think we always mean as we do lay;  
But they will find unto their Detriment,  
That we to ruin them are fully bend,  
And only cloak our great Designs by wiles,  
As Crafty Falconers harmless bird, beguiles.  PAPIST. 
I find my Brother, you as Guilty are,  
Of that which Protestants pretends a Snare;  
Laid by us only, whom I must confess,  
Were the contrivers of this wickedness;  
Whilst ye assist us with this fine pretence,  
That ye are mirrors of all innocence,  
Which they believe, whilst ye do lie perdue,  
Upon the Scout to hear what Plot is new;  
Which when ye secretly do understand,  
You will not fail to lend your helping hand.  QUAKER. 
My Friend I tell thee for thy future good,  
I wonder much thou hast not understood,  
With what obscurity we do design,  
The simple Protestants to undermine;  
Surely my Friend thou hast not quite forgot,  
How formerly we managed a Plot,  
We by pretended Innocence did cause,  
The overthrow both of our King and Laws.  
Yet still we are thought to be innocents',  
Only we are condemned for Malcontents.  PAPIST. 
If thus ye have by innocent disguise,  
Made King and Kingdom, Laws and all a Prize;  
Or your Assistance we may make no doubt,  
For Treachery once harboured ne'er will out,  
And if of subtle Plotters we grow scant,  
we'll search amongst ye to supply our want,  
But if we should do so a pox upon't,  
The Pope will say 'tis Quakers that have done't;  
Then all our Works by him will be despised  
And we for Saints shall ne'er be Cannonized.  QUAKER. 
Fear not my Friend, we'll Rob thee of thy due,  
But let us weigh what we intent to do;  
My Conscience checks me with a thousand stings,  
And says 'tis heinous for to murder Kings.  
Me thinks I hear the Blood for Vengeance cry,  
Of Charles the first, who innocent did die.  
And shall we then imbrue our hand again,  
In Royal Blood, nay let King Charles remain  
To be our Guide, let him the Sceptre sway,  
And as he is Supreme, let us obey.  PAPIST. 
If once you talk of Conscience I have done.  
For our Religion will allow of none;  
The Pope allows of it, and says 'tis just;  
We may contrive to please our carnal Lust;  
And for Revenge we murder may commit,  
And we do justly, when we practise it,  
Our Doctor says a Dose of Royal Blood,  
Against Distempers is exceeding good;  
Shall we despise it then for this pretence,  
We are afraid of checks of Conscience.  QUAKER. 
Thou vile pretender to the Christian-Faith,  
Mind what the Spirit now within me saith;  
It tells thee thus, thou may'st-not hurt the King,  
Unless thou wilt thy Soul to Ruin bring.  
Then offer not that Royal blood to touch,  
One drop of which, will slain thy Soul so much.  
Think not of the allowance of the Pope,  
For which the Laws will noose thee in 〈◊〉 Rope;  
But rather think how thou thy mind may'st bring,  
To love and honour Charles our Gracious King.  PAPIST. 
What fond delusions work within thy Pate,  
Wilt thou to us now prove a Reprobate,  
I thought you had been faithful in your ways,  
But you delude us with your yea and nays;  
ne'er more i'll trust a Quaker for thy sake,  
Thou to assist us once didst undertake.  
But now our Plot is Rotten at the Root,  
You cry your Conscience would not let you do't,  
Hence Quaker hence, I have no more to lay.  
But this, I'll cautious be of Yea and Nay.  
FINIS.