A DIALOGUE Betwixt the Devil and the Whigs.  
Now, Reader, tell me, if you can,  
Which is the Devil, who the Man;  
For if a Tekelite be a Turk,  
They both do (All) the Devils Work.  Whigs. 
WE have pursued those Plots thou didst invent,  
And made our Parties in a Parliament,  
And to no purpose, what can we do more;  
Thou lettest the Tories in, yet keep'st the Door.  Devil. 
When aught doth not succeed you first blame Me,  
Amongst yourselves Ye never did agree:  
Your Wise-false-brethrens have undone your Cause,  
And from no Subjects, slaved you to the Laws.  Whigs. 
We know no Laws but those ourselves do make,  
And Hanging ne'er confess (All) for Thy sake:  
Thou knowst what we have done, and more would do,  
But dealest with us, as Witches, leav'st us so.  Devil. 
My Power is to Incline, not to Compel,  
You are the Ministers to Act for Hell;  
But do not send me those I did expect,  
Through your base Cowardice, or Fool's neglect.  Whigs. 
Can We do more than Thou; We killed a KING,  
And his Best Subjects did to Judgement bring:  
We sent them hence, when they were under Ground,  
We thought all Flesh, was in the Devil's Pound.  Devil. 

You speak as you believe, were it not so  
Thousands of you might unto Heaven go;  

But Your Association with Me  
Will keep us Friends to all Eternity,  
And never be reproached for Perjury.    Whig. 

Thou the first Rebel, taught'st us to Rebel,  
Surely Thou needest no Company in Hell.  

Thou shamd'st Us in Contriving of this Plot,  
That GOD himself would oversee the Blot,  
Because that in his Name it was Begot.    Devil. 
There is a Bard a● strange as is his Name,  
A Power you know not, who hath raised his Fame,  
'Tis He, whose Wisdom Countermined your Arts,  
And on yourselves returned your poisoned Darts.  Whig. 
That Devil Observator, Oh! 'tis He  
We would not see (GOD) in His Company:  
Our very Thoughts, He seemed to know so well,  
They were in Print, before th' were known in Hell.  Devil. 
His Daemon circle's Him, I cannot Kill  
Nor Hurt Him, so much as to shake his Quill,  
He Writes such Truths, and Speaks such Sacred Things,  
The Church's Champion, and the Guard of Kings.  Whig. 
Though Thou Confess, Thou canst not yet Repent  
No more than We; Then down when we are sent,  
There curse the Fates, who spin so long His Thread,  
That He will live, to see our Children Dead.  Devil. 
Take Comfort yet, the Blood that You have spilt,  
No former Age can parallel your Gild.  
I did corrupt the Mobile of Heaven.  
You did the like on Earth, now We are even.  
This Kindness I will do; Over my Furies,  
I'll make You Precedents, Judges, or Juries.   

Printed by N.T. at the Entrance into Old-Spring-Garden. 1684.