AN Excellent New Ballad BETWEEN Tom the Tory, and Toney the Whig.  
To the Tune of, Shuttle- Come- shit, etc.  

GOod People all, both Great and Small,  
Come listen to my Story;  
There was a Fray, the other Day,  
Between a Whig, and Tory.   

For all their Distance, now they met,  
Joined in the Stocks together;  
You may be sure, 'twas for no good,  
That both of them came thither.   

The Tory's Name was Lashing Tom;  
The Whig was called Toney;  
And yet the Urchin, most Men say,  
Wants neither Wit nor Money.   

At first they surly were, and grim,  
And stiff as as any Quaker;  
They looked much like in Hangings old,  
The Panther, and the Baker.   

A while they only huffed and puffed  
At one another, growling:  
At last the Curs did spend their Mouths,  
And thus they fell a Howling.   Tom. 

(Quoth Tom) to me, thy Company  
Is now as sweet as Honey:  
'Tis the first Day, I e'er could say,  
To me thou'rt welcome Toney.   

●nce in this Wooden-Cage we meet,  
Let's Con our Notes together:  
●nd prithee Toney tell me how  
The Devil has brought thee hither.   Toney. 

quoth Toney) spare thy Compliment,  
Thou soon shalt be Confounded:  
as thou forgot, thou vapouring Sot,  
By whom thou were't Impounded.   

●e tried a Better, and a Worse,  
I fairly thee did Master:  
am not Conquered, but Betrayed  
By Rogues, to this Disaster.   Tom. 

●●ose Rogues (quo Tom) thy Creatures were,  
Unjust is thy Complaining;  
Since 'to this Pen, thou'rt hunted in  
By Whelps of thy own Training.   

Thy Wickedness, turned thee to Beast,  
And hither thee did hurry:  
And in this Guise, Acteon-wise,  
Thy Hellhounds thee shall worry.   Toney. 

Thou wants not Wickedness, but Wit,  
To turn it to thy Profit:  
Who but a Sot, would hatch a Plot,  
And then make nothing of it?   

'Twas I was fain to Rear thy Barn,  
And bring it to Perfection:  
I made the Frighted Nation sue  
To me, for my Protection.   Tom. 

I know (quoth Tom) thou lov'st of old,  
The Name of a Protector:  
But now with all thy Might and 'Slight,  
Thou art a Baffled Hector.   

With all thy Treats, and all thy Cheats,  
Still thy Design does falter:  
Thou'st got (poor Wretch) some Fees for Catch,  
And for thyself a Halter.   Toney. 

Name not (quoth Toney) that paw thing,  
Till thou thy Heels Recover:  
For who can tell of Thee or Me,  
Who first will be Turned over?   

Tom look to it, when Commons Sat,  
Lest then I take thee Napping:  
I nothing fear, who am so near  
My Honest Friends of Wapping.   

What more they said, or what they did,  
Deserves not to be reckoned:  
Then come away; but first let's pray,  
God bless King Charles the Second.   
FINIS.   

LONDON, Printed for R. H. in the Year, 1678.