A DIALOGUE BETWEEN The Bishop of El— y and his Conscience.  Cons. 
'TIS time to speak, I can no longer hold,  
Tho' bribed by largest Sums of foreign Gold;  
Truth is my Office, and how e'er oppressed,  
I'm Heaven Vicegerent in a Mortals Breast,  
Observe each Action, and remark each Thought,  
Know all designs e'er to perfection brought,  
Long tho' I've stifled been— But now 'tis time,  
Aloud to mind a Prelate of his Crime.  
Tell me then, Reverend Sir, O tell me why,  
Did you by force thus make me to comply,  
Against the Dignity of Holy Lawn,  
On a French Power so dotingly to fawn?  Bp. E. 
What croaking Thing art thou? What canting Cheat,  
That stops me in the Road of being great?  
I on Ambition's Wings so long have flown,  
Must I by thy dull Lure be whistled down,  
What art thou Slave— who makest so vile a stir?  Cons. 
Too well you know me, I'm your Conscience Sir.  Bp. E. 
Conscience— Alas! I've heard of such a Wight,  
Fit only Fools and Schoolboys to affright;  
I've long since lost it, if I e'er had one;  
Interest is all the Conscience I will own.  Cons. 
Think not, vain Prelate, by that feigned disguise  
To hid thy do from my prying Eyes;  
Not only I observe what ere you do,  
But I have registered thy Actions too;  
Yet my Severity I'll once forbear,  
If you and I may like two Friends confer.  Bp. E. 
I find, 'tis but in vain, to make pretence  
To rid myself of this Impertinence;  
I'll humour it for once— for to the Devil  
A well bred Man ought sometimes to be civil.  
Well— now Sir Gravity, I'll be at leisure  
To hear your prating, therefore speak your pleasure.  Cons. 
Are you a Bishop?  Bp. E. 
I have long been so.  Cons. 
But to what Church do you Allegiance owe?  Bp. E. 
The Church of England I esteem my Mother,  
And no respect I pay to any other;  
Her Liturgies, as best of Prayers allow,  
Live by her Rules, and at her Altars bow,  
Chief Pastor once of E— y's holy See,  
Until deprived—  Cons. 
How happened that to be?  Bp. E. 
Tho' former Oaths I took, I could not those,  
Which on us now the Government impose;  
They are so harsh, so crabbed, and severe,  
An Hedgehog I could swallow sooner far.  Cons. 
Hold not those Monarches which now fill the Throne,  
The Church of England's Faith?  Bp. E. 
I think theyve ' none,  
They else their banished Father would recall.  Cons. 
Stop there,  you too loud your Treason bawl:  
Are you the Rudder that must guide the State?  
Were they all Fools, who in Convention sat?  
When to its Crisis was the Kingdom come,  
When Ruin s●●m'd to threaten Christendon,  
Their wiser Methods stopped the raging Flood,  
Which beat down all in opposition stood.  Bp. E. 
Who were the wiser, either Fools or Knaves,  
In this they all agreed to make us Slaves.  Cons. 
What strange Chimaeras fill thy pious Brain?  
What Whimsies does thy fancy entertain?  
Hagg-rid thy Thoughts, and take such mighty pains,  
To form thyself imaginary Chains?  Cons. 
Know you these Letters?  Bp. E. 
I have seen the Hand,  Cons. 
Come, come, too well the Plot you understand;  Bp. E. 
I in a Plot? Think you I'd so disgrace,  
The Function in my Apostolic place,  
To plot or countenace a foul Design,  
Which should my Countries Quiet undermine?  
fanatics only plot, our Church disowns,  
And excommunicates her plotting Sons.  
A civil Letter may, I hope, be wrote  
To Friends abroad, and yet no harm in that.  Cons. 
Although to Mr. Redding's the pretence,  
King J—s is still the Mythologick Sense.  Bp. E. 
Bless me! He does my Bosom Secrets know,  
And yet to shun him still I know not how.  Cons. 
In open Field, at Noon as soon you may  
Your Shadow from your own dear self convey,  
As think by Riddles to secure your sense,  
From my all seeing true Intelligence  
Unhappy Man, and more unhappy I,  
Who thus am doomed to keep thee company;  
Think— had thy Plot succeeded, what a Scene  
Of Misery had thy poor Country been?  
When a French power, assisted by the rage,  
Which does all Bigot Catholics engage,  
Had ravaged Towns, and laid whole Counties waste,  
And ruin like the Plague through Albion passed:  
Strange Riddle of a cursed Plot 'tis sure,  
The Protestant Religion to secure;  
 crave Assistance from the  Shore,  
What Lunatic in Bedlam could do more?  
Reflect once more thou most unthinking Man,  
What Mischief to thy Mother Church is done?  
When Heretics and Atheists for thy sake,  
Shall of Religion a mere Foppery make,  
Thy Holy Function be exposed to scorn,  
And in sad Tear the poor 
* C. of 〈◊〉.  Eusebia mourn,  
Consider how—  Bp. E. 
Dull prating thing no more,  
How darest thou thus my Frailties to explore,  
If within bounds thyself thou dost not keep,  
I'll with Church Opium quickly make thee sleep;  
But hah! What noise is that?  Cons. 
Your guilty Fear,  
Still sounding Trumpets in your Lordship's Ear,  Bp. E. 
A Proclamation out, and out for me;  
Then, then by all my hopes 'tis time to flee,  
Can I this peevish Conscience leave behind,  
Or with strong Cords his noisy Nonsense bind;  
How safe were I— But hark more noises run,  
Come Brother Pen— 'Tis time we both were gone.  
FINIS