A Friendly Dialogue BETWEEN TWO London-Apprentices, The One a WHIG, The Other a TORY: Concerning the late ADDRESS to my Lord MAYOR.  
To which is added a LETTER that was sent (by an unknown hand) to the Principal Managers of it.  WHIGG. 
FOrtunately met, Sir! I remember formerly amongst all the privileges of nature there was none sweeter to me than the fruition of your Society; come Countryman, shall we go and divert ourselves for an hour in yonder green Arbour?  Tory. 
Done! for your company will afford me more pleasure than a pleasant spring can give.  Whigg. 
Then 〈◊〉, let us hasten thither, for the day will steal away insensibly in the sweet entertainment your good company will afford me; here time is not felt, nor hours numbered; and we being both Apprentices, the winged moments should be so husbanded by us, that one be not lost.  Tory. 
Then without any further loss of precious time, which glides away with undiscovered haste, Prithee Countryman tell me how your late Address goes on?  Whigg. 
Sir, I'll freely do it. But stay! stay! hearken! methinks I hear some body speaking by piece-meals behind this Arbour, as if the Tempest of passion disordealy blowed out his words; who is it? another Tory! Therefore let's not proceed to discourse any further, till we can be sure we are free from all men's superintendency, and the bold intrusion of any man's eye.  Tory. 
No, no, 'tis not Tory, you may proceed, 'tis Mr. Joshua Evans (your truest Champion), reporting to the principal Managers of your Address, that Hodge, Thompson, and Benskins' Mother, was certainty delivered of them backwards, their reflections upon it being so stinking, and nasty, and full of untruths.  Whigg. 
Sir, Then correspondent to your desire, I'll proceed to give you an impartial account, how our late Address hath been received in the World.  Tory. 
Sir, I will lend a willing attention, and could wish every Sense of mine, an Ear to hear you.  Whigg. 
Sir, I begin then— Our truly Loyal Address was most bravely received indeed, almost transcending the power of a strong belief; for within about three days time after 'twas Printed, there was above Ten thousand truly Loyal Apprentices of London had Signed it, notwithstanding those three Monopolizers of Lies, Benskins, Thompson and Hodge, had misrepresented this Modest Address to the whole World, designing to obstruct it, though they will be sooner able to put the Universe in their Poke, than to get any Loyal and honest heart to believe them, in their scurrilous reflections; For who doth regard them, but those that are heaved off from the Hindg of Right-reason, and have given their Understanding and Senses, a Lease of Ejectment.  Tory. 
Oh Noble Pack of industrious striplings indeed (if your Tongue hath spoke truth)! But we'll anticipate the progress of this affair, if we can; and were it it not for the sweet thoughts of nipping your Address in the Bud, before it be blossomed into maturity (or presenting), our hearts would be wholly dejected, to think that the whole World will visibly see that the far greater part of the Apprentices of London, dare not but dread the taking upon them the aspersing of Parliaments. Ah Whigg! Millions of thoughts and cares therefore are hourly buzzing in our zealous and envious mind, to prevent you. And our Club, that meet every night at the Crown-Tavern in Ivy Lane, are resolved to tore all the Addresses they can meet with throughout the whole City of London.  Whigg. 
Pray, Sir, what number of Hands have they already sacrificed to their malice and envy?  Tory. 
Fifteen hundred, and upwards.  Whigg. 
What then, is the taring our Papers, and the expectation your hopes are fed with, to stifle our Address, all the Pulleys they have left to draw up their Spirits?  Tory. 
Ay: and a golden Cordial' 'tis.  Whigg. 
I hear Capt. Tom, Capt. Rump, are of their Club; I pray, Sir, are you (for you are as good a Tory-Rory as the best)? Which if you are, I must needs say, if want of brains be a sign of long life, your Tory-Club certainly must be the men that must write Mankind's Epitaph, to admit such Members as those.  Tory. 
Whether we are, or are not, I must not divulge; for being obliged to secrecy, the Arcana Naturae cannot have a greater gift of silence than I; but I will make bold now to ask you a question, or Two.  
First, Whether or no you know not the Barber that was to have a Pot of Ale, for every 20. Hands he got to our late Address to his Majesty, for which purpose he traveled the whole space that interveneth between two Suns, from house to house; which having done, he sits him down to enumerate his Subscribers, and finding the Total but Seven, he considers, his labour in two days would not pay for one supper at night, and therefore by the help of his pregnant fancy, and more tempting invention, he writes in his Paper Threescore Names, and carried it into the Club, and had Three Pots of Ale for his pains: A noble stipend, was it not Whigg, for two days labour and pains?  
My other Question is this, whether or no you are not acquainted with the Printers Boy that had 2 d. a dozen for as many Names as ever he could possibly produce, and he produced abundance, and is now ready to attest that the greater part of them were Names of his own invention. But pray Countryman lock these things as a secret within your own breast, for fear of public reflections.  Whigg. 
Sir, there's no need of secrecy here, for (were there, my tongue should be close Prisoner to my heart) alas this deceitful manner of proceeding of yours was publicly known; and likewise 'twas as openly known, that to augment the number of your Subscribers, you got all the Journeymen, Carmen, Porters, Tapsters, you could procure in Town, with many others of a far more inferior degree: Quae nune prescribere longum est.  Tory. 
This Stratagem we took, as very well knowing that all persons of such an inferior rank and profession, would easily be bribed to set there hands to that which their judgements approved not of.  Whigg. 
Well then, with all your slights and stratagems, how many real Subscribers had you, with Apprentices, Journey men, etc. and others, when your Address was presented? Come, Sir, tell me, and be ingenuous for once, and let your tongue and conscience keep the same tune.  Tory. 
I heard one of the Stewards of our Feast say, the number we had was but four thousand at most, (which man I could name, Whigg, only 'tis not good to be quoting of Authors), but I have heard others say (who dread an untruth) there was but five thousand.  Whigg. 
And I pray, Sir, is it true (as is reported) that the grand promoters and presenters of this Address were not Apprentices, but persons that live idly out of a Calling, that feed on sloth, as Beetles in the dung they breed in, not caring how the metal of their mind is eaten with the rust of idleness?  Tory. 
That's an undoubted verity (and no Chimaera of a restless brain, as some of our Tories assert) for some of them to me did declare, That the world could not go worse with them than it did, let it go how it will.  Whigg. 
Sir, than I perceive your underhand proceed you cannot deny; but Tory, I'll tell you, they have writ such a deformity upon the fairest brow of that undertaking, that Hodge, Thompson, & Benskins can never wipe off.  Tory. 
What then! would you have me deny a plain truth? I cannot (I will not give my conscience the lie.) And I know as for Hodge, Thompson and Benskins, and all their Abettors, they may as soon kindle fire with snow, as prove me a liar in what I have said.  Whigg. 
I confess the truth is the truth, be it on which side it will, and at last Truth's heart will shine through its breast.  Tory. 
I cannot deny what you assert; but I pray, Sir, remember that an ill Comment may mar a good Text, and a misinterpretation of our proceed (if publicly known) may mar our good meaning. I would therefore enjoin you to conceal all I have told you since we came into this Arbour.  Whigg. 
Sir, I shall not be unmindful of your desire, and do confess that the swiftest wing of recompense is too slow to overtake those civilities and favours that now I have received from you. But, Sir, now our Master's business calling us at home, we will now lovingly part, and so for the present adjourn our Discourse till fortune favour us with another fair opportunity. Only I pray resolve me in one particular before we go, which is, Whether or no he was not the man that first set afoot your Address to the King, that went down on his marrowbones before Sir George Waterman, and there humbly asked Mrs. S— forgiveness?  Tory. 
Rem acu tetigisti. And so adieu.  

A LETTER sent Aug. 19th, 1681, thus Superscribed, To the truly Loyal, and Protestant Apprentices of London, that were the principal Managers of the late Address to my Lord Mayor.  
GO on Heroic Souls, and faithful be  
Unto your God, your King, your Liberty.  
Let your unbyast actions give the Lie  
To such as scandalise your Loyalty.  
To Caesar render what's too Caesar due:  
Earth merits, Heaven expects no more from you.  
Those Rights defend, which your brave Sires sent down,  
Inviolable as the Throne or Crown.  
Tell supple Parasites, and treacherous Knaves,  
You're humble Subjects, not degenerate Slaves.  
Bow low, but scorn to creep (for that's as well).  
Nor for a Mess of Broth your Birthrights sell.  
Pass by th'affronts that Hell and Rome can send;  
Comfort yourselves, When 'tis at worst 'twill mend.  
But when the Church is shaken by potent foes,  
For her defence your Bodies interpose.  
Of Popish mercy never run the risk:  
A Crowned Serpent grows a Basilisk.  
Vindicate then the Gospel and the Laws;  
The Cause is Heaven's, Heaven will espouse the Cause.  
Undauntedly prop up your Church's Walls,  
And joy to fall beneath it, if it falls.  
To perish thus, who would not be content,  
When mouldering Temples are his Monument?    

LONDON: Printed for Richard Janeway, in Queens-Head-Alley in Pater-Noster-Row. 1681.