New News FROM BEDLAM: OR More Work for Towzer and his Brother Ravenscroft.  
ALIAS Hocus Pocuus Whipped and Stripped: OR A Raree New Fashion CUPPING-GLASS Most humbly Represented to the 〈◊〉  
Wherein the various Shapes, and present Legerdemain Postures, Principles and Practices of the bold and most Insolent Factors for the Infallible Chair (both in Church and State) are yet more and more unvailed and discovered.  
As it was lately Represented in a plain honest Country Dialogue, (viz. both Serious, Comical, Satyrical, Tragical and Theological) to a True Loyal Protestant-Association of Master and Scholars, to be Acted by them at the next Breaking up of their Grammar-School, and then, and there, it is shrewdly suspected (by a Vote of Nemine Contradicente) 'twill be Resolved, That a Second Impression of the said Dialogue, with App●●●●●●, shall be forthwith promoted and Published for the 〈…〉 and farther Information of the 〈◊〉.  
By Theophilus Rationalis, one of Heraclitus Ridens, Nut. Thompson's, and the most profound Obser●●●'s Wise Men of Gotham, although a most Sincere, and True Lover of King and Country.  
Post Tenebras splendet, surgit post Nubila Phoebus.  
London. Printed for the Author, and Published by Langley Curtis, at the Sign of Sir Edmund Bury Godfrey's Head near Fleet-Bridge. Anno Domini 1682.   

A Loyal Protestant Address: OR The Epistle Dedicatory.  
To the Right Honourable, the truly Noble and most Loyal Protestant Peers of this Realm. In particular His Grace James Duke of Monmouth, Arthur E. of Essex, and Anthony E. of Shaftesbury, etc.  

AS you have been the Captains in our Channels,  
To take those Pirates, and bold Water-Spaniels,  
Which to their cost did here so lately come  
In strong Armadas, from the Church of Rome,  
For to destroy us: And our Lands to make  
A Legal Prize, unto that Stygian Lake  
Of bloody Tiber: And to drain from hence  
Millions of Treasure, by Saint Peter's Pence,  
For which Attempt your Loyalty now Rings  
In sweet tuned Anthems to the King of Kings,  
For raising up such Noble Peers to stand  
Now in the Breach, against that Hellish Band,  
And will remain for everlasting praise  
Unto your Honours, who all have won the Bayss,  
Although the flattering, huffing, ranting Tory Crew  
Of State-Satyricks, so bespatter you,  
Your Names shall live, when theirs shall die and rot,  
Your Coat shall shine, when theirs shall have a blot;  
You shall be great, when they shall be forlorn;  
You shall be loved, when they the Nations scorn;  
You shall be Gold, when they shall be but Dross;  
You shall triumph, when they may mount a Cross.  
Courage, brave Heroes, now some breezing Gales  
Will make their Captains strike their main Topsails,  
And may ere long surrender to the Whigs  
Their Tory Roary plotting Bird-lime Twigs,  
Which have stuck fast unto that Interest,  
Which wise men call the Scarlet-coloured Beast.   

Since things are so transacted now in France,  
The Tories now will tack to Monsieur Prance,  
And bless Nat. Thompson, that true Romish Elf,  
Who now doth Print, that Godfrey hanged himself  
Although the first, who did the Truth declare,  
That he was Murdered from the Roman Chair;  
And he that trebles each Dissenters spot,  
Marks not one word, of this most scandalous blot  
Unto the Justice of our English Nation,  
For Hanging men, only for Recreation)  
And rather lean unto that Popish Fry,  
And well he may, because he knows they Lie  
Much like himself; and Birds all of a Feather,  
Do love to flutter, and to flock together;  
Yet these be Men the Tories count so Loyal,  
Damn us for Dogs, upon the least denial  
Of this Shame Truth (Oh Heavens!) what Men are those  
Who can't distinguish between Doves and Crows.  
Between bold Traitors, and true Loyal Peers,  
Between good Subjects, and those Leather Ears,  
Who now do trot from House to House, to try  
Who will Abhor, and who for Liberty;  
The first they mark, as Loyal Sons of State,  
The next they seal, oft with a broken Pate,  
In Loyal Duty, with the rest of those,  
Who will Abhor our King and Kingdoms Foes,  
And will stand by them not with Ifs and Ands,  
Or Forty thousand of High Tory Hands.  
Like the Dulmano Tribe, which hums and haws,  
Instead of Preaching, only do pick Straws,  
And tears Dissenters with their Lockarom Jaws:  
Or like that Monsieur with his Vahant Men,  
Went up an Hill, and so came down again:  
No, we'll stand by them with our Lives and Lands,  
So far as they lift up our Legal Hands,  
For to support our English Monarchy  
Against all Popish, and French Tyranny.   

Unto your Honours, I these Lines present,  
In patiented Hopes, that our next Parliament,  
Will search the bottom of those Shame Intrigues,  
From French, from English, and from Irish Teagues;  
I dare not boast the strength of this my Muse,  
Like soaring Laureate, who doth so abuse  
Your Grace, your Honours, and his Country too;  
He brands his Country in dispraising you.  
And though his Satyrs in them have no weight,  
Yet for his pains deserves a broken Pate.  
Small Chicken am I, not yet Pen-feathered for  
To steer a Ship, or board a Man of War;  
Yet I have ventured from my Bedlam shore  
One of their tall Ships with my Plumes to gore;  
And if they pass but through his Aged side  
(Although I steer both against Wind and Tide)  
And chance to fall into his Powder-Room,  
Whigs may then write to Miss Joanna Broom,  
To let her know of Towzer's sad Disaster,  
And to provide for him a cooling Plaster:  
If this won't do, let Joan turn him to Grass,  
To nab some Thistles with the braying Ass;  
Or else six spoonfuls in our Cupping-glass  
Of Aqua fortis, and strong Hellebore,  
Mixed well together, take for this, I am sure,  
Probatum est, 'twill either kill or cure;  
And though of late he hath with Rippon Spur,  
Endeavoured much, my Credit for to slur,  
In his Remarks, because he knows I am  
In Hand and Heart a true bred English Man;  
Yet if your Honours patronise these Lines  
(Which he will Print, are dull distracted Rhymes)  
I then do hope, these honest Bedlam strains,  
Will be a means to wipe off all his stains,  
And in due time Reward me for my pains.   
So prays Your Honour's most obliged, most faithful, most obedient, and most sincerely devoted Servant Theophilus Rationalis.  
(Most Noble Peers)   

An EPISTLE TO THE TORIES.  
Gallant and brave Sirs,  
AS your Noble Champion (and Guide to the Inferior Clergy) hath been pleased in his Noverint Umversi's, viz. his weekly (I had almost said Quotidiano) Observations, to proclaim my Name in Print, No. 104. which duly weighed and considered, is a very great Honour and Reputation (an shall please your Toryships) to some Persons, either to render them more famous, or else more obnoxious to those with whom they do more or less Traffic and converse, but more especially in this Lunatic and Scribbling Generation of ours, wherein if a man makes but the least halt whatsoever, either in his Morals or Intellectuals, though't be lapsus Linguae, lapsus Memoriae, aut lapsus Scribendi, he hath a most ingenious and genteely accomplished Observator at the heels of him immediately, either to by't him by the Legs, or else to send him presently to Bedlam, for his more severe and deserved Castigation.  
Tories,  
The Premises considered (and too apparent to be denied or disputed) I could do no less than strain Courtesy with him (namque manus manum fricat) and would beg of you Genteels, to present him with one of these Books, which are the first Fruits of my Lunatic Labours upon this Bedlam account (to whom I presume it is most properly due, and aught to have been my Patron, in regard he sent me to this College, but allowing me no maintenance since my Admission, I was resolved to find out more Noble Persons for my Epistle Dedicatory.)  
And that you would be pleased also more especially to present him with my obliged Gratitude for his particular (though by me undeserved) Respects, in ranking me with a Person of so great Quality, viz. no less than a Duke. And as that Person of Quality hath already made his Public Acknowledgement unto him, as to his own particular, so I could do no less (Eodem modo & forma) than pay my Respects upon the same Account. And that from my head Quarters No. 205. in the Lower Walk in Bedlam, whither his Eminent Excellency was pleased to send me, from whence I hope (as well as my Noble Brother) if he do not too much blister me with his Scarrificatious Horseleeches and Cupping-glasses (with the additional Aid of your Prayers and Curses which are idem per idem, of the same import) but I shall be restored again in a short time to my former Senses, and so if you are well, pray tell Mr. Observator that I am pretty well, and so True Tories far you well.  
Bedlam, April the first 1682. No. 205. in the Lower Walk. I am Yours, and the Observator's very respective (though Lunatic) Friend to trace both him and you in my Mad Fits according to your Sentiments of the ensuing Dialogue, Theophilus Rationalis.   

To the True Loyal Protestant Whigs, upon his purusal of his Worthy Friends, Hocus Pocus, or the Observator's New-Fashion Cupping-Glass.  
LIft up your drowsy Heads unto the dawning Light,  
Heavens have forbid an Everlasting Night;  
And though you have a long time been forlorn,  
Yet now rejoice, to see th'approaching Morn.  
You have been tossed among the Raging Waves;  
The Algerines did hope to make you Slaves:  
But your Chase Guns, when they were all in laughter,  
Did split their Bottoms, between Wind and Water.  
Courage, brave Lads, never despond no more,  
Your Loyal Ship is now come safe to shore:  
Your Valiant Captain now hath foiled all those,  
Who were the Churches, and the Kingdoms Foes.  
Those ill bred Vapours, which do hover here,  
With so much rage, within our Hemisphere,  
Th'Informing Tribe, a shame unto our Nation,  
To suffer such to blot your Reputation:  
The Dog, the Fox, the Tiger, and the Bear,  
Which did your Loyal Hearts so oft in pieces tear,  
From day to day, and what they heard o'er Night  
In Screetch-Owl Barns, next Morn was brought to light,  
And stamped for Currant by the Tory Crew,  
Although as false sometimes, as Heaven is true.  
Such is the boldness of these Romish Varlets,  
To make Black White, Vermillions to be Scarlets.  
But here they're met with such a Cornish Hug,  
As you will find will make them always shrug;  
And doubtless, will make some pull in their Horns,  
Rather than undergo such future Scorns.  
Your stripling Friend here with his nimble Pen,  
Hath charmed Old Towzer close within his Den,  
From biting any more. His crazy Head,  
By Hocus Pocus new, is brought to Bed:  
Although sometimes perchance he'll bark again  
At these, who shall come near his rattling Chain.  
Yet now he may discharge his Elder Gun,  
You have a Broom, who hath him quite outdone.  
The Play house sure a Plague-house is become,  
Pestered with Plague-sores by the Pests of Rome,  
Spurting out still Poison most pestilent,  
Sometimes Profane, and sometimes Turbulent.  
When Popish Priests were out of Pulpits Thrust,  
In Pious Edward's Reign, Invectives Cursed,  
They pestered Stages with, to Ridicule,  
His Reformation; hence to Charm that devil,  
Stageplays were Damned by Statute Royal-Rule:  
Oh that our Powers would Reinforce that Law,  
This Cursed Cockatrice to keep in Awe,  
From Hatching Fiery Serpents, who wag their Wings,  
Strike Loyal Protestants with Fatal Stings.  
Plays are a Nasty Nurse to Vice, the Devil's Ground,  
Where He possesseth All within his Round:  
Where wicked Wits, with their Lewd wanton Acts,  
In Satan's Ord nance soon beget base Fects;  
God's Ordinance they're not, His Institution,  
God never gave them, nor his Benediction.  
Tories take heed, lest their Contagion catch you,  
And Tyburn-Tippets do in time Dispatch you.  
Though Doctor Spratt a Swordfish seems, and would  
Conjure your Coats to Swords, while circled stood,  
Save you, nor can Enchanted Swords, nor Falchion's,  
New News from Bedlam gives you solid Cautions.  N.C.  

The Master's Advice to a French Painter, to Draw several Scenes to present to the Scholars at the Breaking up of their Grammar School.  

DRraw Bedlam first, the Glory of our Land,  
And all the Trees which do before it stand;  
Then those within, who lately there were sent  
By Raven's Craft, to give his Passion vent;  
And also him, whom Towzer there put in,  
When as he was upon the merry Pin,  
And thither sent him, in his Goose cap Quills,  
To take this Let, the Observator's Pills,  
Although in truth they never yet came there,  
Nor never will, we rather hope than fear.  
Draw next two Jesuits, all besmeared in blood,  
Bringing in popery, like a mighty Flood.  
Draw them good Painter in the Forlorn Hope,  
As Cousin Germains to their Prince the Pope,  
As labouring hard by Wiles and by Meanders,  
Just like those Youths, who lately came from Flanders:  
Saint Omers Breed, a special hopeful Fry,  
To Shame us of our Lives and Liberty:  
Draw them dear Painter in their various shape,  
(Chameleon like) when they commit a Rape  
Upon our Bodies and our Senses: Come  
Draw them Importors from the Church of Rome,  
Draw them as Men, who lately came from Hell,  
And in their heat courting a Je-za-bel,  
And with their Sluts, embracing in their Arms,  
Still flattering them with Hocus Pocus Charms:  
If to the life you would a Jesuit Paint,  
Draw Fiend on backside, on the fore-side Saint.  
Draw Towzer next, and all his Elder Guns,  
His Paper Pellets, and his weekly Puns;  
His Cupping-Glasses, and his Brain-fick Notions,  
His Clyster-pipes, and all his Bedlam Potions;  
His Tory Study, and his Coffee Fumes,  
His City Crabstocks, and his Country Prunes:  
Observe him well, or he'll observe your hits,  
And fairly put you in his Frantic Fits,  
Within those Cells, where he hath sent of late  
A special Friend to teach him how to prate;  
Miss not one Feature in his Princelike Face,  
Which if you should, you would him much disgrace.  
If you do doubt what posture will him please,  
Painter, for that I'll give your Pencil ease;  
Draw him a Weaver, working in a Loom,  
Then draw him Warping to the Church of Rome:  
This posture sure of all must please him best,  
Or his Proposals are but all in Jest,  
Which he of late hath published to Unite,  
To make us all to Rome turn Proselyte.   

Next draw Jack-Pudding in his Cock's comb Cap,  
The Observator leaning on his Lap,  
And all his Bigots round about him sit,  
Telling him Lies without either fear or wit:  
Th'Informing Tribe, those filthy Kennel-Rakes  
To sober minds that stink like any Jakes,  
Draw them as black as Paint can make them black,  
Then draw them mounted on the Devil's back;  
Draw them on Coals, in their own Grease to fry,  
That London Phans have here such Liberty,  
And not cooped up in Holes, in Caves, in Dens,  
Like to those Worthies now in Bristol Pens.   

(England beware lest Heaven should now make speed,  
To help his People at their time of need.)  
Draw Tories next them in their Frantic Fits,  
Like Bedlams foaming, stark out of their wits,  
In their accursed Oaths (like claps of Thunder)  
As if they'd rend both Church and State asunder;  
A special Tribe to be Sons of the Church,  
When Heaven at last will leave them in the lurch:  
God bless us from their horrid Imprecations,  
When they Address even to their own Damnation's:  
If God should take them at their proper word,  
Although their Oaths he hath them on Record,  
But will not let his furious Passion vent,  
Because they should take warning, and Repent.  
Tories beware, remember what's to come,  
If you ask what? It is the Day of Doom,  
Where you must stand, a strict Account must render  
For Oaths and Curses, and for Flouts (none slender,)  
Which you did make at all things that were-Sacred,  
And then must stand before your Judge all naked.   

Draw Heraclitus next, that special Trout,  
Who from some muddy Lake did sure leap out:  
Draw him now writing a Pindaric Ode,  
Then draw him swelling like an ugly Toad;  
Then draw him strutting like a Crow in Gutter,  
Then draw a Screech-Owl, when his Wings do flutter,  
Then draw him Bandog, when he runs at Sheep,  
Then draw him Bugbear, when he plays Bopeep,  
Then draw him dead-drunk, when he cannot creep,  
Then draw him sober, when he's fast asleep:  
Now draw him Painter in his Goosecap dressed,  
To please the Fops with a dry frothy Jest,  
Although in earnest, a mere Jack-a-Lent,  
A Scar Crow Bigot, 'gainst a Parliament,  
More fit for the Country Hobbs, and those  
Who Till our Lands, to fright away the Crows.  
Then to stay here with his Pindaric Lerries,  
Draw him in Kent as frighting Rooks from Cherries,  
Or else upon Ben. Tooke'es' Ship to sail  
With him and Nat. the next Fair-blowing Gale,  
Into the Land of Whigland, where no doubt  
If once they come, they'll hardly thence get out:  
The Soil, the Air, the Country is so good,  
They'll never want for good and wholesome Food:  
They were the Men who first found out the Land,  
Why then so proper to fetch home the Sand  
Of those Rich Banks, as these Utopian Sprights,  
Who found it out in long dark Winter Nights;  
When Fogs arose, when scarce they saw their Hand,  
Yet these brave Mousers then found out the Land,  
A Land that flows with Beasts and Irish Cattle,  
Fitting to serve them in their Whigland Battle;  
Draw them here weighing to fetch home more Mice,  
And let their Cargo be a Ship of Lice:  
But when they're launched into the Ocean deep,  
Let Neptune lull them all there fast asleep,  
Within his crisped Arms, and never more,  
To have such Vermin on our English Shore.  
Painter stop here, if this you Paint with skill,  
You shall be Laureate of the Pencil Quill.  
Draw next Nath. Thompson with his Cross-Key Fetters,  
And all his Bullies of the Roman Letters;  
Draw him, be sure, as limping with one Leg,  
Then draw the other fast stuck on a Peg,  
And cannot stir without some fetch him thence,  
By Habeas Corpus of Saint Peter's Pence;  
But draw him with such Actions at his Tail,  
That none shall venture thence to give him Bail;  
Paint him so wicked, as never to have hope  
To fly from thence, unless it be by Rope,  
Which if he scape, then draw him there to lie,  
A Rogue he lived, and so there let him die.  
Draw Towzer, Nat. and Clitus here together,  
As if they were Birds of the selfsame Feather;  
Next draw Satyricks, which so much do flutter,  
Because they want some Honey to their Butter,  
In their Sublimes, wherein our Noble Peers,  
They make so bold, to pluck them by their Ears,  
Because stout Champions for their Country's good,  
Though by these Fops they are not understood;  
A bold Imperious flattering sort of Cattle,  
Who make a Noise, just like the children's Rattle,  
And do deserve with all their Herds and Flocks,  
Fast to be tied to the Whipping stocks,  
And them be lashed until they learn more Wit,  
Or there remain till Parliament may Sit.  
Kings and bold Tyrants are the selfsame things  
With these Flesh-Flies, when mounted on their Wings,  
Witness of late their Protectorian Praise,  
For which some faith, Our Laureate won the Bayss  
In those Rebellious Times; and now he rakes  
Hell and the Devil, and the Stygian Lakes,  
And them impleads for to inspire his Muse,  
His King and Country, and his Peers to abuse;  
Come Painter, leave him to our Cupping-Box,  
Which may in time abate this swelling Pox,  
Which he hath caught among the Tory Crew;  
Leave him with them, to sing Cuckold Adieu.  
Here spoke my Painter thus; Sir if you please  
Now to sit down, and give yourself some ease,  
I have a mind to draw one here below,  
As a Lieutenant to your Raree Show,  
If not room here, in our next Wainscot Page,  
And this shall be the Tinker of our Age,  
That special dry Chip of a piece of Wood,  
Who never writ, nor thought of what was good;  
It matters not to draw him to the life,  
Since he is dead, with all his Works of strife;  
And though the Tories may perchance to hust,  
To hear their Champion went out like a snuff,  
Yet here I'll draw him with a Face of Brass,  
Because his Name was Monsieur Hudibrass;  
I'll draw him first here scraping to the Devil,  
To cure the State of the Fanatique Evil,  
And to inspire his base Hobgoblin Muse,  
By Tumbling Art, the Loyal Phans to abuse;  
Then I will draw him, and his doughty Rhymes,  
Only to please the now debauched Times,  
And all his Ribbald and Romantic Stories,  
Only to please the Hogan Mogan Tories;  
I'll let my Pencil here now run at Rovers,  
As if I were to draw here Kentish Drovers;  
Then shall my Right Hand fairly dash about,  
As if I did intent to draw Dishclout;  
Be sure I'll draw him all in Rags and Rents,  
And in those Rags burlesquing Parliaments;  
I'll drew him now in Doggerel Meeter,  
And there like to a Chimney-Sweeper,  
With all his knick-knacks at his shoulders,  
To mend the Bumpkins and Freeholders,  
Where ere he comes for to make sport,  
Either in City, or in Court;  
I'll draw him in his proper Jeers,  
In setting Dogs and Bears by th'Ears;  
I'll draw him and his profane Wit,  
As pleasing to the Tory Cit;  
I'll draw him hab-nab at a venture,  
Then draw him cutting of Indenture,  
With twenty Maggots and mishaps,  
As he came home from Mother Redcaps,  
Upon his Body and his Noddle,  
As being so drunk he could not straddle,  
But down he fell into a Ditch,  
And there was bit by a Salt-Bitch,  
And ever since he could not write  
One word of Truth; but only By't;  
I'll draw him here with all his Pranks,  
And then presented with no Thanks,  
Only for his Rambling Prattle,  
He was presented with a Rattle.   

For this poor Rogue, after his Doggerel huff,  
Went out from hence just like a Candle snuff,  
And after all this Swineheards Revel Rout,  
Had not one Ring to hang upon his Snout,  
Which made him such a true discons'late Elf,  
Ready with grief almost to hang himself;  
Here then I'll draw him with deep Jigger Jagger,  
In Life a Locust, and in Death a Beggar.   

Monsieur,  
Se vous rend grace pour ce dernier effort,  
Which may perhaps make Whig and Tory sport.  
Painter draw next the Worthies of our Nation,  
Who from their hearts desire Reformation,  
And willing are to suffer Penal Laws  
Against them made in any Righteous Cause:  
Then Paint them hoping the next Parliament,  
Will all their Fears and Jealousies prevent;  
If not before, then draw them all Addressing,  
And on their knees imploring heavens great blessing  
Upon them all, and that he would now please  
T'incline King Charles his heart to give them ease,  
Or else with strength their Loyal Hearts support,  
Against new Edicts that shall come from Court;  
But Painter draw them still with a desire  
That Royal Charles should quench that smoking Fire,  
Which is almost throughout the Nation spread,  
Which makes them so (poor hearts) to hang the Head.  
Painter next draw the Clergy of our Nation,  
As being mounted on a Lofty Station,  
And just below them place those Worthy Men,  
Which even now you drew forth with your Pen,  
And in their Mouths this Label place as sent  
Unto those Clergy, and next Parliament.   

Great Sirs,  
We don't pretend to things that are sublime,  
Above our sphere, as namely Laws Divine,  
To be enforced by the Civil Sword,  
But only by that Charming Voice, his Word,  
Most plainly Preached unto our common Sense,  
By Arguments of Reason drawn from thence,  
Which is that Light set up within Man's Breast,  
That doth distinguish him from a Brute Beast,  
(Which must be Ruled with Bit and Bridle too,  
With Whip and Spur, if you will have him do.)  
No other way as yet we have found out,  
To save Men's Souls, or to resolve a Doubt,  
And therefore will not with the Tories prate  
At such a bold pragmatic scrabling rate,  
By Laws Established both in Church and State.  
The last is yours, the first it is God's Throne,  
And those who grate so much upon that Bone,  
Are Rebels more than those of Forty One.  
Poor mortal Shrubs! we dare not so presume  
To think that we can make a sweet Perfume  
Unto the King of Kings, by making Laws  
For to Establish his most Righteous Cause,  
Which he hath undertaken, and hath sent  
His only Son on purpose to present  
His Will to us, in Acts of Parliament,  
Of Scripture-Records, signed with the Blood  
Of Christ himself; for all the Nations good  
Under the Cope of Heaven, if they will come  
Submit to him, and to his glorious Son.  
All Cobweb Laws of Statesmen since that time,  
Have only been but Water mixed with Wine,  
In Church-Affairs; for doubtless that's his own  
Most proper Right, which we dare not disown,  
Since he hath promised that the Gates of Hell  
Shall ne'er prevail against his Charming Bell  
Of Magna Charta Laws, where Reason must us guide,  
And not the Pope, nor any Man beside  
On this side Heaven, so as to force Assent,  
Beyond the power and dint of Argument,  
For Mortal Men to make Immortal Laws,  
To bind our Souls, and free us from the Jaws  
Of Everlasting Death; how doth it look  
Just like a Whale caught with a small Fish-hook;  
And though our Rulers do pretend so high,  
To guard the Throne of Sovereign Majesty,  
By their By-Laws Imposed on his Church,  
They will at last be left all in the Lurch;  
And they shall see their folly in his time,  
Who only makes such Laws as are Divine,  
And not for them to meddle with, but stand  
In their own proper sphere to give command,  
Where God hath placed them by his Sovereign Power,  
To guard men's Bodies, not their Souls devour,  
By forcing them against their common sense,  
To make Men Hypocrites, under pretence  
Of guarding of God's Truth, but make them evil,  
And send by wholesale Men unto the Devil;  
Yet this you venture at with full intent,  
In your Imposing things Indifferent;  
And when you have once got the Royal Stamp,  
Our Old Religion than you'll straight new vamp  
With Trash and Trumpery, only t'abuse  
God's holy Church, with Country clouted Shoes,  
And then you thunder out Hell and Damnation,  
To all that will not Bow (throughout the Nation)  
Unto your Idols, which you so Adore,  
And here set up, just like a Painted Whore,  
And do present her to the People's sight,  
As if she had the stamp of Divine Right:  
For shame leave off these whiffling tricks of Art,  
Whereby you make the Nation so much smart;  
We dare be bold t'affirm these Impositions,  
Are only Rellicks of Rome's Superstitions;  
And though you press them with such Zealous Rage,  
In Press and Pulpit, to this present Age,  
Yet we do think (and therein may be bold)  
You'll never bring this Nation to your Mould.  
Though you do say, the things themselves are such  
Which may be used, or not used over much;  
And do affirm, although Indifferent  
In their own nature; but a Parliament,  
When they Impose them, and them do proclaim,  
The case is altered, now they must remain  
Not as before. But all of them such things  
As if commanded by the King of Kings:  
'Tis not the things themselves that are so sacred,  
But Royal Stamp, that hath them so Created.  
This is your great Goliath, who bids defiance,  
And upon whom you have so strong Reliance;  
One little stone thrown from a Striplings Sling,  
Will strip your Champion of his Triple String,  
And he shall tell him, and need say no more,  
This very thing sets up the Scarlet Whore,  
Top and Top gallant, with her Plumes so high,  
As if she'd mount above the Starry Sky,  
And there invade even Sovereign Majesty,  
As if he could not tell what to Impose,  
Without the Statute of his Bulls and Blows:  
It is the common Art which she doth use,  
To cheat their Chickens, and poor Souls abuse,  
In telling them, they must not think too much  
Of any thing Imposed by holy Church,  
For by the same Law you Impose but one,  
You may do here as they have done at Rome,  
Impose one hundred, and in time may clog  
All our Religion with the Romish Fog;  
Like the Egyptian Darkness, which was such,  
That none could find the right way to their Church;  
Pray what security give you these Men,  
That charge you thus with their plain downright Pen?  
Impose but one, then by the selfsame hand  
Impose an hundred by your just command,  
All must obeyed be, or else forsooth  
You'll tell the King they have an aching Tooth,  
Who do Dissent, to be at some strange things,  
Make him the Foot, and they themselves all Kings.  
This is the very Language of all such  
Who count themselves the Pillars of the Church;  
And so at length they'll come to Infinitum,  
With Popish Trinkets, only to invite'um  
To come to us, that so at last they may  
Save all our Souls the clean contrary way;  
Whereas we know, that Heaven's right charming Bell,  
Is to persuade, but never to compel,  
Unless it be by such a Bow that's bend  
(Non Vi & Armis, sed) with strong Argument,  
As knowing th'terrors of our dreadful Lord,  
We do persuade Obedience to his Word;  
But your Imposing things Indifferent  
by Statute-Laws, in Acts of Parliament,  
Hath made the Breach so wide in Church and State,  
That may at last end in a broken Pate,  
For aught we know, unless it God prevent,  
By sending us an Healing Parliament,  
Which may leave all these things (like Heaven) so free,  
That all shall Love His present Majesty  
With all their Souls, their Bodies, and their States,  
And one and all cry down these Maggot Pates,  
Who would enslave us to the Roman Chair,  
And by degrees would cut off all our Hair  
Wherein our strength doth lie; but hold a Blow,  
We know our trusties, these things better know,  
Than for to send us once more to that Church,  
Which will at last leave all our Souls i'th'lurch.  
Come Painter, now close up, for we have done,  
We'll leave these Bigots to the Church of Rome,  
Who may perchance be cheated (just like these,  
Who once were Pigeons, but now counted Crows)  
Unless they will, to save their Plurnes, but turn,  
(Chameleon like) before that they will burn.   
Honoi soit qui mal y pense.   

The Prologue spoken by Mr. Tho. Tell-Truth, as Captain of the School, being clothed in Vermilion Satin, and a white Plume of Feathers in his Hat; and Addressing himself first to the Gentlemen and Ladies, and afterwards to the Scholars (who were also clothed in their proper Formalities) he began as followeth.  
Gentlemen and Ladies,  
IF you are come, expecting Grammar Treats,  
Our Lads can shame; the World's so full of Cheats;  
But yet they say (though thwarting Expectation)  
They hope to please you by a Declaration,  
Which they will send abroad for to expose  
As well the Churches, as the Kingdoms Foes;  
And this they'll speed quite round about the Nation,  
Bedlams our Scene, and our just provocation;  
For you must know, that to this place was sent  
Some Friends of ours, as mad and TURBULENT;  
And here forsooth they must have Doctor French,  
To give them Pills, their hot Brains for to quench,  
Although indeed the Fops that like that Play,  
Are ten times madder, as you'll hear to day:  
We mean those frantics, who did first excite  
The Raven's Goose-quill, that Shame to Indite;  
And since our Master, to requite his strain,  
Gave us this Theme, his Maggot to explain,  
And to declare the Truth unto all those  
Who can't distinguish between Doves and Crows.  
Our Friends retain their Wits, even as created  
Rooks feed on Carrion, and are Maggot-pated.  
We say our Master, who doth yonder sit,  
Gave us this Theme to exercise our wit:  
Our Plumes proclaim their Dovelike Innocence;  
Our Satin shows they are without offence.  
Our bashful Poet in his Bedlam Vest,  
Was clapped in also there among the rest,  
Only for dashing two words with his Quills,  
There he was sent this Lent to take some Pills,  
Num. Ducent. quinque being his Doses cell,  
There he beat out his Hocus Pocus Spell;  
Thence also came his new invented Glass,  
With which he hopes to cure both Fool and Ass,  
The which he hath exposed to public view,  
Hoping likewise to purge the Tory Crew.  
When Men are oft exposed, they see their folly,  
And some return from their mad Melancholy.  
We hope you'll thank him for his good Intents,  
To Prince, to People, and to Parliaments.  
Porter's forbear, let not the Tories in,  
These to the Pope, some say, are near of kin;  
But hang't for once, come let them all draw near,  
'Tis not the Pope or Tories that we fear;  
We'll represent plain Truths, let them tell Lies,  
They shoot at Rovers, we shall gain the Prize;  
Although perhaps they may, for aught we know,  
Go and declare 've seen the Rareeshow,  
And swear it too, against our Master here,  
To get some Cakes unto their late strong Beer;  
But unto these our Master bids defrance,  
And to such Rogues he hath not an Alliance;  
And though the Truth to tell he hath thought fit,  
He loves ingenious, but no Factious Wit.  
And now we'll tell you what we shall express,  
To please your Fancies, either more or less;  
For in so great a Congress some may huff,  
Whigs take Tobacco, Tories they take Snuff.  
Our Master gave, besides our Bedlam Themes,  
To Oil our Fancies, several sorts of Scenes;  
And in our Contemplations bid us hope  
To Maul the French, the Tories and the Pope;  
And in Obedience to his strict Commands,  
We launched our Ship from off the Goodwin Sands,  
As having then some breezing prosperous Gales,  
We weighed our Anchors, and hoist up our Sails,  
Intending for the Cape of Bon Sperance,  
When Lo a Fleet with their full Sails from France,  
Of these bold Pirates, and their Popish Fry,  
From off our Topmast head we did descry,  
As if intending to surprise our Isle;  
Come Peace, come War, come either Cross or Pile,  
With bold Resolves, by sham's, or else by Thumps,  
That here at last the Pope should turn up Trumpets;  
We called a Council strait for to consult,  
And soon our Captains came to this Result,  
To let them pass into our English Channels,  
And there to fight them and their Water-spaniels;  
Where having fixed them, all along our Shoar,  
We made our demi, and our whole Canons roar  
So briskly on them, that in truth we may  
Declare to you that we have got the day,  
And so shall hold it, unless some strange mishaps  
Do fall upon us like great Thunderclaps,  
To beat us from our Anchors, and our Cables,  
Which Tories hope, but we hope will prove Fables.  
These are the Men which we shall represent,  
As bold and Factious heady Turbulent,  
Disloyal to their Prince, and scurr'lous to their Peers,  
Fills all our Heads with Jealousies and Fears,  
As if the world were turned up side down,  
And all good Men turned Traitors to the Crown;  
If these may be believed, oh horrid shame,  
That such Bandogs should slain their Christian Name,  
Who never will (though so abused) let fly  
One Blunderbuss against His Majesty;  
Nor never will in any Warlike Thumps,  
Discharge one Gun against the Nations Trumpets,  
As private persons; yet they may oppose,  
Not only Foreign, but Domestic Foes,  
Who do so boldly in our bowels lurk,  
(Far worse to England than the Jews or Turk;)  
And do endeavour to blow up our States  
By Treasons, Murders, or by broken Pates,  
Or any thing which they can but devise,  
Or sham's, or real Plots to make us prize,  
Unto His Highness' Signior Don the Pope,  
For which these Traitors well deserve the Rope,  
Which is too good for such, who now survive,  
They rather merit to be burnt alive;  
For Lex Talionis is a Righteous Law.  
Our Martyred Saints this very Death they saw,  
And also felt, witness Old Smithfield Rounds,  
In times of you're with shrill lamenting Sounds.  
Now such as these we may oppose each man  
So far as legally (no more) we can,  
And rather here than these shall turn up Trumpets,  
When Legs are cut, we'll fight upon our stumps.  
These are the Men in this our Declaration,  
Which are th'Aggressors in our English Nation.  
Our modest Poet with his Eagle wings,  
Doth soar aloft unto the King of Kings,  
Implores his Aid, for to direct his Quill,  
To stop the mouths of all that wish us ill:  
Let him proceed, and may he never falter,  
And these that slur him, let them have an Halter,  
To draw them up, upon the Sovereign Tree,  
We hope to this with us you will agree,  
Scholars, Maximè, Maximè, Maximè, Etiam, Etiam, Etiam.  
Monsieurs, Oui, Oui, Oui, Oui,  
Gentlemen and Ladies, Yes, Yes, Yes, Yes.  
So now we will appeal in this our Frantic Reason,  
Tories we dare you; Have we yet spoke Treason?  
Tories, No, No, No, No.  gentlemans aside, Cunning Dogs, whatever they think, they dare not speak otherwise for fear of being Macknamared. 
Then you shall hear the rest, you speak like Men,  
When we have done, you'll take this Test again;  
Yes, Yes, Yes, Yes.  
But hark our Muse, the Lads now call and say,  
It's time to stop, that they may come in play;  
But yet to please, we fairly promise here  
What wants in Front, to make good in the Rear.  
Then turning himself to the Scholars, in particular to these who were to perform their Parts in the Dialogue (being all clothed in their proper Formalities) spoke as followeth:  
Si Puer hoc sciret quantum doctrina valeret,  
Raro dormiret, sed nocte dieque studeret.  
Adeste Lads, and give your Master thanks  
For this day's work, to show us Noble Pranks,  
Which may in time redound unto our praise,  
And some of us may chance to win the Bayss.  
If we'll push hard, and think no labour lost  
Wherein we learn, Dame Learning to accost.  
For this, dear Sirs, our Friends hath sent us here,  
Not to be drunk, or learn to domineer,  
With these bold Tories of our present Age,  
Which is a shame to mention on our Stage,  
Where modest Truth and Virtue rule the Roast:  
Not cursed Oaths, which to the Jurors cost,  
Will then appear, when as that dreadful Ite,  
Of Go you cursed, and that blessed Venite  
Shall be pronounced, upon the Day of Doom,  
When Heaven and Hell shall say, Come make us Room  
For all our Subjects, in their proper station,  
As they did act within their State Probation.  
Learn these two Letters if it be in posse  
Memento mori, & teipsum nosce:  
Learn, read and practise these two Letters well,  
They'll teach us how to scape the Gates of Hell.  
Now if you please you may lead up the Dance,  
And board those Sweep-stakes which are come from France.  
Remember first what is your Masters due,  
If you thank him, be sure he will love you.  
Scholars, Gratias, Gratias, Gratias.   

The Names of the Scholastic Academians in the ensuing Catalogue.  

Hocus Catholicus Romanos, Two English Jesuits sent from Rome to Sweden, and from thence to England.  
Pocus Catholicus Romanos, Two English Jesuits sent from Rome to Sweden, and from thence to England.  
Rodomantadoes Licentias Liberosos Publicanos, An Observator.  
Doctorius Anthropos Orthodoxius Anglicanos, A true Legitimate, but a highflown Tantivy Clergyman of the Church of England.  
Isabel Van, Harlot Two common Strumpets.  
Joanna Van, Harlot Two common Strumpets.  
Jocosus Pragmaticosus Furiosus. Three swinging Inforformers, the first is Jester to the Observator.  
Mercurius Hibernos Tossoffacanos. Three swinging Inforformers, the first is Jester to the Observator.  
Mecurius Aglicanos Asdriasdos. Three swinging Inforformers, the first is Jester to the Observator.  
Theophilus Catholicus Christianos. Two Brethren, but in some things modest Dissenters from the Church of England as by Law Established.  
Thomatius Catholicus Christianos, alias Thomatius Tell-Truth, Two Brethren, but in some things modest Dissenters from the Church of England as by Law Established.  
Whigs and Tories,  
Tantivies and Strangers,  
Captains and Soldiers,  
Constables and Watchmen,  
Drawers and Coffee-men.    


Dialogus Primus Serious & Comical.  In Nomine Domini incipit omne Malum. Jocosus Pragmaticosus Furiosos, 
SUrely our Vesper-man was invited by the Hackney-Dons this night to Supper, which made him, when mounted in his Catholic Vestments, spur his little black Devil under him, into a high Presbyterian Trot (as if he were to run a Race with the Butcher of Croyden) but I presume it was to save part of his Coleworts and Bacon, which is the usual Treats among those Journeymen Sir john's, for their Summer nights Repasts.  Whig. 
Whereas you say it was a high Presbyterian Trot, I rather believe it, was a Tantivy Gallop, and was intended for Sam's Coffee-house (where I have seen you many a sweet time, and as great with the Observator as Cup and Can) and should he post much after the same rate, I dare lay Twenty Guineas he would quickly break his Neck and then you may chop off his Head, and make a little Devil of him, and not so abuse your Pater-Noster-man beforehand, as I perceive you have already done by your last Discourse. But since you are Merry Andrew, I cannot much blame you, in regard it is your place (I wish you have not at last a slap with a Fox Tail for your pains) to put your Inventions upon the wrack to please the high Tories and Tantivy-Boyes (now in vogue) but more especially your Reverend Patron, and most profound Master the Observator.  J. P. 
Come Whig in quarto (for I perceive by your joining with us to night, you are not of them in Folio) notwithstanding your Joaking Repartee, we will not fall out, but at in and in, as often (and as much) as you please, though sometimes we must expect to be at cross purposes with you, viz. Out Nettle, in Dock, & cum multis aliis, which I have not now time to repeat  Doctorius Anthropos Anglicanos, 
Come, since our Vespers are already done,  
Or as the Western Volk do zay so zoon)  
And that Don Phoebus, Sovereign of the Light  
Doth now draw near unto his shortest Night,  
Which we do call Saint Barnaby the bright:  
And that I have as yet three hours good,  
Before I need go home unto my Wood,  
To maul Dissenters with my Ink-horn Pot,  
To morrow morn. Come, come, the weather's hot,  
I'll have a care I don't take too much pains  
Against those Rebels, lest I crack my Brains  
With too long Parchments in Tantivy strains:  
There is enough already will them fright,  
Out of their senses; Towzer doth so by't  
Their Maggot-Pates with his ingenious Pen;  
He shuts them up (like Daniel) in the Den  
If that they will not bow unto the Pope,  
In time they may taste of his treple Rope;  
There's he and Nat. and Ridens altogether,  
Will smoak their Tails, as Birds all of a Feather:  
These are our Champions, we may now sit still,  
And give them each a Laureate to their Quill.  
I'll steer my Course unto Comb's Coffee-house,  
For some diversion, perhaps catch a Louse,  
Which being pounded in a Glass of Sack,  
My Doctor tells me is Old strengthen-Back,  
For my distemper, my old Jaundice grief,  
Stars be propitious, send me some relief.  J. P. 
Now Doctor if you please to go before us,  
We will come after and make up the Chorus.  D. A 
Well moved Jack Pudding with thy custard noddle,  
If thou wilt help, we'll ride the Whigs a straddle.  J. P. 
With all my heart, my honest Doctor Tant:  
There you shall see how bravely I will chant,  
My  Tongue, and my rare flashy Wit,  
Shall make the Whigs, and all the Tories split  
Themselves with laughings, hums, huzza's, and after  
They'll break their Fasts with merriment and laughter;  
And all the Scholars, as they run to School,  
Will still be chanting of their Bedlam Fool.  D. A. 
Huzza brave Pudding, here's a Friend indeed,  
To help a Tory at his time of need.  Mr. Combs. 
You're welcome Doctor to our Coffee house,  
But have a care you do not catch a Louse;  
The Ragged Tories have been here to day,  
They suck up Mum, as whigs do suck up Whey.  D. A. 
I thank you Combs, now for your sucking Whigs,  
Though you mistook, you meant sure sucking Pigs.  Mr. Combs. 
I did indeed Sir, but there I did miss,  
Sed lapsus linguae, non error mentis.  D. A. 
But have a care you do not slip too much,  
Remember Towzer, and Alhallows Church.  Mr. C. 
I thank you Sir for this your precious Item,  
Though for the Truth (some say) that he did by't 'em:  
But as for that, we will not here dispute,  
Leave that to Harry, him for to confute;  
He's Canon-proof, he cares not for his Guns,  
Nor all his paltry, frothy Paper Puns,  
Which he puts forth in his Old Canting way,  
To please the Tories which have gone astray.  D. A. 
But what's become of all your Tory Cattle?  Mr. C. 
They're all marched off unto the Whigland Battle;  
The Trumpets sounded, and the Drums they beat,  
And I was glad to hear of their Retreat.  
Here was Ben. Took, and with him Heraclitus,  
Who with Pindariques every week doth fright us.  
These are the Captains for that New found Land.  
They were the Men who first found out the Sand  
Of those Rich Mines beyond the Indian shore,  
And now they're launching to fetch home some more:  
These are brave Steers-men, bold Utopian sprights,  
Who found it out in long dark winter nights;  
And though they say the Prince of that Rich Land,  
Is loath to part with any of his Sand;  
Yet to prevail with some old Jaundy Mice  
Within his Court, they take a Ship of Lice  
Now for a Cargo, in hopes when on the Shore,  
Those Jaundy Mice will change them all for Ore.  J. P. 
And if they oft return, I make no doubt,  
But in short time to see a total Rout  
Of all those Whigs which do infest our Lands,  
These Golden Mines will raise such Trained Bands,  
If not to fight, yet to out-swear the Devil.  
Then Tony shall be cured of his Evil. Tories Huzza.  D. A. 
If not before, I fear he never will  
Utopian Ships do rather fright than kill.  J. P. 
What e'er you think, pray don't our Plots disclose,  
Sometimes we fight with Pens, sometimes with Blows.  
We have assayed to make a Whigland Plot,  
If ill success attends, pray blame us not,  
Though we do stretch Inventions on the wrack,  
Sometimes so high, our very Ropes do crack,  
But we must still say Mum, our skills no less,  
Though we do meet with so much bad success,  Whigs, 
Hum, Hum, Hum.  Whig. 
And may you always have the same success,  
Let God you blast, and let Don Pope you bless.  D. A. 
Come, come Jack P. let us call a new Cause: Prithee Combs who is that man sits there at the next Table, he looks as if he were a man of metal, and I have a mind to hear what he can say for himself; these Whigs here at this Table do so buzz in my Ears with Hums and Haws at every period of our discourse, that it would make an Horse break his Halter to hear their gaping Mouths. But Will, where have you been? since you are come, Bring us Tobacco, and one Quart of Mum.  Will. 
I will Doctor immediately.  
Mercurius Hibernos Tossoffacanus,  
And me another, if you please good Will,  
To drink the Doctor's Health I'll try my skill.  
Mercurius Anglicus Asdriasdust,  
Bring me another for to quench my Thirst,  
I am as dry as ever was the Dust.  D. A. 
Jack, What are all these Fellows that call at this rate here round about us?  J. P. 
Mr. Doctor, take my word for it, they are all very honest Fellows, true Trout, and all as good Sons of the Church as ever— They are come in hot.  
I sent them about some particular Affairs concerning the Settlement of the Nation (in these distracted times) and now they must (as well as yourself) after Exercise, give Nature a Philip with two or three quarts of Mum, to spirit them on for any Attempt that I shall Impose upon them.  D. A. 
In paucis verbis Jack I understand thee, and I am glad they are now come here with all my heart, and so Gentlemen you are most kindly welcome.  
Then here goes honest Pudding's Health,  
Come drink it on your Head,  
For he hath so much Wit and Wealth,  
He'll bring the Pope to Bed.  
Tories, Huzza, Huzza.  
But Mr. Combs. what is that Gentleman's Name which I spoke to you before of, who sits at the next Table?  Mr. C. 
He is a very honest Gentleman, I will assure you; he is my very good Customer; he speaks not much, but when he doth, he speaks to the purpose, and all people that hear him do very much acquiesce in his Determinations.  D. A. 
Pray what is his Name?  Mr. C. 
His Name is Mr. Tho. Tell. Truth.  D. A. 
Is he Whig or Tory according to the present Alamode distinction of the Fanatic Times?  Mr. C. 
I presume he is neither, because I have often heard him commend the Character of a Good Man neither Whig nor Tory, and he doth always lay down this Position between the two Extremes;  In medio consistit Virtus. 
But yet some call him a Whig for all that; but if he be one, I believe it is one of the last Edition, viz. a Common Prayer Whig, as you and others of my Tory Customers are pleased to call him.  J. P. 
Pax take him for a Whig, if he be a Common-Prayer Whig, Doctor, he is not for our company, and we shall do no good upon him; it will be but lost labour to attempt any thing upon his Dogmaticals; for those kind of Whigs are such a sort of Cattle, that you cannot drive them one step beyond the Sentiments of their own carnal and (now in our lapsed State) corrupted Reason; and yet they do cry Reason up at that rate, as if they were Roasting Eggs with it every day in the week.  D. A. 
Have a little patience good Boy, and let's have a little discourse with him, fall Back, fall Edge.  Mr. C. 
Have a care Doctor; though you are very pleasant, and always playing on the poor Whigs (which are now at a very low Ebb) yet perhaps Mr. Tho. Tell-Truth may give you as good as you bring; for I will assure you, he hath been too hard for many that have entered the Lists with him.  D. A. 
I long to be at him; for Combs, I must tell you (bona fide, & in verbo Sacerdotis) to me it is Meat, Drink, and Cloth.  
Will, Will, Make haste good Lad, come hither, come, Bring us some Pipes, and tother Quart of Mum.  Will. 
What's a Clock?  W. 
It is not yet Seven.  
Best of all, for than I shall have the more time to recreate myself among your Master's Whiglanders before I go home to take my sweet and natural Repose; but indeed I thought it had been much later, but it seems St. Christopher's Church, was done sooner to night than ordinary.  
Thomatius Catholicus Christianos alias Tho. Tell-Truth.  Mr. Combs, 
What is that Clergyman there that hath asked you twice concerning me?  Mr. C. 
He is a High Tantivy-man of the Church of England, a Boon Companion, but excellent company, if a man do not tease him too much, and he would very willingly have some discourse with you the plain truth is, he doth love dearly to Joak & Jest (and at this time he hath got the Observator's Jester with him to bear up a chorus) with the honest Whigs that come to my house.  T. J. 
With all my heart Mr. Combs, I shall be very willing to drink a glass of Mum with him, if he be not quarrelsome, nor yet his Jester, if a man should chance now and then to give him a Cornish Hug, or to pinch them close.  Mr. C. 
I will hope the contrary; but if it should chance to fall out otherwise, we have Mr. Constable at the next Door (viz. Mr. Kid) who will quickly come and keep the King's Peace.  T. T. 
Your Servant Mr. Doctor, I perceive by your Canonical Vestments, that you are a person of Quality, though by what Names or Titles soever Dignified or Distinguished, I cannot tell.  D. A. 
Sir, I am so; and to give you some further satisfaction as to my Titles and Dignities; my Name is Doctorius Anthropos Orthodoxius Anglicanos, and that is an high Title, for I am sure it sounds very sublime, viz. a True, Orthodox, Legitimate Son of the Church of England; and then as to my Dignities and Spiritual Promotions, I am Rector of All Souls; I am Prebend of Baschurch; I am Vicar of Nonsuch; I am Chaplain in Ordinary to Bishop Woodby; and I am Dean of Christ-Church, as soon as ever I can get some Noble Patron to present me with the same at the next vacancy.  T. T. 
All these are very gay things, if you of the Clergy would not so much abuse them.  D. A. 
I will assure you Sir, we scorn to abuse,  
We hug them close for our own proper use.  T. T. 
'Tis very true, for others do complain,  
Some Preach for nothing, but you Preach for gain.  D. A. 
Well Mr. Tell-Truth, this is beside our business at present, but I will lay this down before you as a Position, and pray answer it as fast as you can, to the content and satisfaction of this present Congregation here Assembled; viz. That if it were not for Honest Nat. Thompson (that Loyal protestant) Heraclitus Ridens, and the most Worthy and Learned Observator, who are our Champions, our Guides, our Glass-Lanthorns, our Beacons, our Landmarks, our Touch and Go Tinderboxes, or Setting-Dogs, our Towzers, our Tumblers, cum multis aliis, etc. the True, Loyal, and most Obedient Sons of the Church of England, would be run down by the Whigs most abominably.  T. T. 
To cure us of our Jealousies and Fears,  
By Setting us together by the Ears.  
You Highflown Churchmen, with your spatter-Brains,  
Would split us all, if you did hold the Reins.  D. A. 
And should be glad with all our Souls to see  
Such cursed Rogues hang on the Gallow-Tree.  Tories, 
Huzza, Huzza.  T. T. 
This is right (Mr. Tantivy) to the Tune of Flying Fame, alias secundnm Doctor Dulman, alias Doctor Blunderbuz. who Preached a Sermon to a Learned Auditory, not long after His Majesty's Restauration, and having therein, as he thought, given the poor fanatics a mortal wound, he concludes his most elaboborate and dull piece with these two Verses, in hobbling Meeter.  
And all that will not say Amen, Amen.  
Let them be hanged, I say, again, again.  J. P. 
And, had I been there, I would have made the People given him such Hums, as would have made the very Bells in the Steeple strike their Clappers to have given him thanks for his Orthodox Sermon; for I hear that Doctor was a true Son of the Church of England, and we want more of such grand Pillars to support us, Tories, Huzza, Huzza.  D. A. 
We have consulted our Prospective-Glass,  
To make a Whig not only Fool, but Ass;  
And are resolved never for to centre,  
Until we have not only burst the Venture,  
But broke the Back of Naked Truth, who stands  
In bold Defiance to our Church Commands,  
And let her bounce, and prate, and use her skill,  
We've got her now at our dispose and will.  Tory, 
Huzza, Huzza.  T. T. 
If this your Resolutions therein be,  
Truth will prevail, in time she'll make us free;  
For all your huffing and your bouncing words,  
Your Tory Muskets, and your Rusty Swords,  
Which came from Hell (unto your own great Fame)  
There you shall centre, or (say) Truth is lame;  
She never yet did fail her Sons with Shield,  
And Buckler too, to make them win the Field.  Whigs, 
Hum, Hum, Hum.  D. A. 
Courage bold Towzer, now stand up, or never,  
You see these Rogues intends us all to sever,  
By their high Lofty strains, but yet we hope  
If you don't flag us, they shall have a Rope,  
To draw them up, upon the Triple Tree,  
There let them sing; Then hay Boys up go we.  Tories, 
Huzza, Huzza.  T. T. 
Before that day we do no question make,  
But yours, the Pope's, and Towzer's heart will ache,  
You know of late what did become of Nat.  
Towzer beware, the Whigs do smell a Rat:  
If him and Ridens there should after run,  
Who then must guard his Ship and your split Gun.  Whigs, 
Hum, Hum, Hum.  J. P. 
A Pox of all these Whigland Sons of Whores,  
Who still do lurk along our English Shores;  
Come hang'um, damn 'em, rot 'em, let 'em run,  
They'll never leave us, till their War is done.  
They are so bold, and still will give us Thumps,  
Cut off their Legs, they'll fight upon the stumps.  T. T. 
Leave us now then, and you shall see hereafter  
We'll give you Tories, fair and gentle Quarter.  
We will not touch one Hair upon your Head,  
But by sweet words we'll bring you all to Bed,  
And heap up Coals of Love upon your Crowns,  
Not Fire nor Faggots in Old Smithfield Rounds,  
'Tis not for naked Truth to act such things  
As will displease her Lord, the King of Kings.  Whigs, 
No, No, No.  J. P. 
Come Doctor leave 'em, to melt in their grease,  
That we have here so fairly kept the Peace.  
For had we made the least Resistance, straight  
Their next, effort had been a broken Pate.  
Our Men were wise not to proceed so far.  M. T. 
For we had heard of Captain Macknamar.  M. A. 
I love for to inform, but hate to fight with those  
Who do my Master scorn, and love so much dry blows.  Whigs, 
Hum, Hum, Hum.  J. P. 
Allons Monsieur car il est desja bion Tard,  D. A. 
With all my heart good Jack, before that we are marred.  
Come Will, take money here, though these confounded Whigs have nettled us, yet I will pay thee very honestly; I have had three Quarts of Mum, four Dishes of Coffee, five Pipes of Tobacco, which is in all two shillings and three pence; here is an old Rumper half Crown, (which I know you all love so well) and take three pence for thyself.  Strangers, 
Hiss, Hiss, Hiss.  T. T. 
You are mistaken Sir, you do abuse  
Your King, your Country, with such shamming News.  
We love our Triple State too well, to choose  
A Protectorian Magna Farta State;  
We are for Laws, and not as you do prate.  D. A. 
Come Jack, let's go, & meet at Kids to morrow,  
One Quart at Greene's, will wash away all sorrow,  
Which here we have received Demain perhaps,  
The Whigs may pray for these their Thunderclaps.  J. P. 
Hang sorrow, cast away care,  
Though Whigs they do not mind us,  
Their Lockram Jaws we'll rend and tear,  
When 've got them behind us.  
Tories, Huzza, Huzza.  
Good night, bold Whigs, I bid you all good night,  
I cannot stay, for I must go to sh—  Whigs, 
Hiss, Hiss, Hiss.  T. T. 
Come let them go for high Tantivy Elves,  
Give them but Rope, in time they'll hang themselves:  
And though they hope to morrow they shall sing,  
I fear they harp upon a rotten string,  
And they will meet as good as they shall bring.  Whigs, 
We do resolve to meet them there to morrow;  T. T. 
That I can't, Whigs, this is to my great sorrow:  
But if they chance to light upon my Brother,  
He'll do their Job, you need not have another.  Exeunt Omnes.   

Dialogus Secundus, Serious, Comical, and Satyrical.  A. D. Bonjour. 
MY darling Drudge, I'll take thy word again,  J. P. 
To serve you Doctor, I'll cross o'er the Main.  
And though last night we had so bad success,  
I think Tom Truth, the Devil did him bless,  
With Magic Art, to help him at his need,  
Which made him run so fast, and with such speed;  
And now my blood doth rise within my veins,  
To knock him down, or else beat out his brains.  D. A. 
I do accord the Whigs they were too hard,  
But yet am glad we were not Macknamared.  
Pray hold a blow, beware a broken'Pate,  
If with your Tongue you can give them Checkmate,  
I like it well; but still make there a stand,  
Be well advised; let this be my Command.  J. P. 
Doctor, to me you seem to be discreet;  
'Tis good for fools sometimes wise men do meet;  
I'll take your counsel, and resolve 'gainst Truth,  
A fixed Hand, but not a Tongue-tied Mouth.  D. A. 
Hold there Jack Pudding, you'll do well enuf,  
And by degrees you will them all out-huff.  J. P. 
I do not question but my bouncing Fits  
Will fright the Whigs all stark out of their wits:  
I have Conundrums this day in my Head,  
By which I hope to bring them all to bed.  Mr. Gibbs, 
Hum, quoth Sir Harry, whom have we here to day?  
Tories, Tantivies, and all so fine and gay,  
As if they meant now for to Act a Play.  Harry. 
There is Doctorious, to make up their number,  
We hope the Whigs will part them all in sunder,  
When they come in, there sits a Face of Brass,  
Here sits another looks so like an Ass;  
A Toper sure enough, there sits another.  Mr. Gibbs. 
But Harry look, here comes Tom Tell-truths Brother,  
He'll pay them off, as sure as Eggs be Eggs,  
And fix their Tongues within their Ivory Pegs.  Harry. 
Courage my Masters, lead them up a Dance,  
And let it be that new one late from France.  
From all that are now 'gainst the Pope's pulling down,  
And a Tory Address from the right Country Clown,  
Who at our late Parliaments do so much frown.  
Libera nos, etc.  
Whigs. Hum, Hum, Hum.  J. P. 
What ails these Whigland Coxcombs for to crow,  
No Storms appear, unless a Raree Show  
They do foresee, which makes 'em so to Hum,  
Come Doctor (Vobis) in a Glass of Mum;  
They'll fill our Heads with Jealousies and Fears,  
With these their Scarecrows, and their blind Bug-bears,  
And when they can, will be about our Ears.  D. A. 
Nay, as for that, we value them not one Rush,  
When e'er they come, we'll give them push for push.  J. P. 
Well moved my Lad, I see that you can bounce,  
Those very words are worth Guiney an Ounce;  
And for yourself, in being now so bold,  
I'll swear to boot, you're worth your weight in Gold.  
Tories'. Huzza, Huzza.  Harry. 
They all did Hum to see a friend sit there,  
He'll vent your Tubs, and make you drink small Beer:  
He'll cut your Coxcombs, though you now so fleer;  
He'll cure your Maggots, if you him do jeer.  J. P. 
What sauce-box's this, who talks at this wild rate?  
I have a mind to crack him o'er the Pate.  Harry. 
To let you know, I am my Master's Man,  
Now Constable, do what you dare or can.  D. A. 
Good Jack forbear, pray do not break the Peace,  
Take my Advice, let all dry Blows now cease.  
I will (good Sir) take your Advice although,  
I had some thoughts to give him one sinart blow.  
But Harry, laying aside all Quarrels, prithee tell me who is that person that sits there, which made your Master's Customers, so to hum at the very sight of him?  Harry. 
With all my Heart, I will tell you that, and any thing else, in a civil way, if you will keep your Cane within your Legs, and not heave it at my Pate.  I. P. 
I will, I will, I'll assure you.  Harry. 
Sir, It is one Mr. Theophilus, Mr. Tell-truths' own Brother.  D. A. 
Tell-truths' Brother? I wish we had never seen him nor his Brother neither, but Mum for that.  I. P. 
But is it Theophilus Rationalis, the Author of Multum in Parvo?  Harry. 
I cannot inform you, as to that, for he goes with us by the name of Mr. Theophilus Catholicus Christianus, but the Company, and all my Master's Customers give him a great deal of respect, for his true Loyalty to his Prince, his Clemency and Moderation in all cases and upon all points whatsoever, relating either to Church or State.  I. P. 
Harry, I thank you, for giving me this Information, as far as you can, and if you will inform me, of any thing in this, or the like nature, when I desire it? I will be very civil to you; and here is a George on Horseback for you, towards your Christmas Box.  Harry. 
I most humbly thank you, most worthy and noble Sir, it is the greatest Gift I have had presented me this many a day, you have obliged me; Sir, I shall—  I. P. 
And likewise I do make it my request, That if Mr. Observator, and myself, do chance to meet here sometimes, you will satisfy us in any thing that we shall propose to you, by way of Interrogation.  Harry. 
Yes, yes, as far as my slender capacity doth extend, you need not make the least scruple of my ready compliance with you both, upon any such like account.  I. P. 
I will assure you, we shall be both very grateful unto you, and likewise shall endeavour to bring you some good Gentlemen Customers, that shall join issue with us upon the same account.  Harry. 
Your most humble Servant, good Sir, I do very well understand you. Verbum sapienti satis est.  Harry aside 
These cursed Rogues that come here on the snap,  
And by their Bribes good men they would entrap.  
I shall grow rich, although I smell a rot,  
I'll shame the Shammer, and their Whigland-PLOT.  

2.  T. C. 
From Tantivy Abhorrers who make it a Trade,  
To represent all true Protestants in Masquerade,  
Though not one of them all, but a true Tory blade,  
And some kin to the Pope, that blind stumbling Jade.  
Libera Nos, etc.  I. P. 
Harry, Pray inform me, what it is that the Whigs are reading, at the next Table, which makes them so merry about the mouth, etc.  Harry. 
Sir, I will go and put my Head in among the rest of the Fraternity (or as you do call them, Brotherhood) and bring you word presently.  D. A. 
A special Rogue, I'll warrant him Jack, he is fitting for your business, if you can but manage him completely, for Isee he hath already Iearned some of our Canting Phrases, and I do not question but in a short time he will proceed to perfection.  I. P. 
Let me alone to manage him with a Golden Rippon Spur, I'll prick him and bear him with that effectually.  Harry. 
Sir, I have been among the Whiglanders, and I put in my Woodlock Bill among 'em (an shall please you Sir) and I find upon their Paper Records, it is a New Loyal French Protestant Litany, both for Church and State, lately Translated, Composed, and put into English Meeter, and Theophilus Christianus is there, now Clerk of the Council.  I. P. 
By whom Harry prithee was it Translated?  Harry. 
By Mr. Tho. Tell-Truth (as one of the black Jacks turned up with white, did inform me) Theophilus his own Brother.  D. A. 
A special Trout upon my Life, we shall make him a true Son of the Church in a very short time; here you Rogue, here is a Crown piece to buy you a pair of Gloves.  Harry. 
Vostre Serviteur tres humble Monsieur le Dogiteur,  
Je vous en serviray de bren bon ceur.  I. P. 
I taught this Rogue a little French (coming here sometimes) and you see he can speak it, ex tempore, and also in Rhyme.  Harry. 
Oui Monsieur vous m'aver l'apprins, & un bon Maistre toujours faict un bon Serviteur.  I. P. 
Allez vous en il y a un autre cinq Shellings pour vous mon bon gar●on.   

3.  T. C. 
From all that wish well to the true Popish Plot,  
And from all those grand Tories who say, They will not  
Believe it at all, but would have it forgot,  
Although twenty new Ropes hath of late been their lot.  Whigs. 
Hum, hum, hum.  
Libera Nos, etc.  I. P. 
Harry: They are at it again, may not we go and sit by them at the same Table?  Harry. 
Yes, yes, without offence, for they are so bold and confident in their way, they fear no colours, and some Tories have sometimes said in my hearing, That though they speak not one word of Sense, but all Treason from the bottom to the top, yet they are so Devilish confident, notwithstanding that they hope ere long, to see them all hanged, upon my Masters Amsterdam Coffeehouse Signpost for so doing.  D. A. 
I will assure you (Harry) those Tories whoever they were, spoke very much to the point in hand, and I hope to hear of a second part to the same Tune.  I P. 
But Mum, good Doctor Mum, Harry, come, come,  
And bring our Doctor one whole quart of Mum.  Harry, 
It's good sometimes to stop your mouths with  
Least that the Whigs should hear you over run.  D. A. 
Before they should, I'd rather split my Venture, Mum  Harry. 
But have a care you do not make Indenture  
As you go home, the Whigs will say, Y'are drunk,  
And will conclude you have been with a Punk.  D. A. 
It may be so, and what is this pray more  
Than what they do? to drink, to reel and Whore.  
Only we're public, in the broad day light,  
They do it private in Cabals at Night.  Harry. 
Gentlemen, yonder comes Rodomontadoes Licencius, Liberosus Publicanos and Heraclitus Ridens, and Ben. Tooke, and Nat. Thomson, and the Devil and all, I think; what a noise do they keep as they come along, surely we shall have a brave Trade to day? and I do not question but I shall get some money of them, either by hook or by crook.  I. P. 
Oh mon bon Maistre, ha', ha', ha'.  
Monsieur Observator, vous ester les tres bren venu Quand on Parle de Diable il se monster son cull.  
For we were just now speaking of you, and you chopped in upou us, almost in the same critical minute.  R. L. 
You are a Rogue and ever so will be.  
But yet your Face of Brass, I'm glad to see.  I. P. 
Je vous rend grace, I am your sure Tool;  
Call me what you please, but don't call me Fool.  R. L. 
It's granted, Rogue enough, leted be a Match,  
Instead of Fool, I'll call thee honest Patch.  I. P. 
By patching and piecing, I'll pay off the Whigs,  
By canting and ranting I'll hum all their Jigs.  
By Swearing and Gursing, I'll teach them to pray,  
And send them to Heaven, the contrary way.  
But my honest Master (in good scber sadness) how came you and your company here to day, for to the best of my remembrance, I never saw you here before, in my life; but I am apt to think some body hath conjured you and the rest of you here together, to help us at a dead lift, for the Whigs are grown so abominable saucy and impudent, that they speak Treason as faft as I can swallow Cherries at 2 d. per pound, and that you shall hear presently, if you will hearken to their Litany, which Mr. Gill Justice, at the upper end of that Table (as Clerk of the Council,) is now reading to their Honours.  R. L. 
A Pox of their Honours, I'll do what I can to stop all their Mouths, or else I'll put them all in Bedlam (one after another) in my next Observations, but in the first place, I must tell thee honest Patch, I think thou art a Witch, for I do protest there was such an Hurricane in the Street, that did blow us here all together, as we were marching along to our general Rendezvous at sam's Coffe-House, do what we could for our lives.  I. P. 
It is very well, I will hope our Stars are propitious, and that you were not sent here for nothing.  R. L. 
I do hope so too, come let us draw near the Treasonable Table, but whatever you do hear, say nothing to them but Mum but what Treason you hear them speak, be sure you cry them up to the Skies, and Hum as well as they do, and I'll warrant it, we'll make a Protestant Whigland-Plot of it, before we have done.  I. P. 
Oh my brave Master, you speak (shall I say?) like a Captain; no, no, by no means, but you speak like an Emperor, or like Don John of Austria, as if he were here in his own proper person? and I will tell you something in your Ear: We have secured Kids Boy Harry (a profound deep Rogue I'll swear) with some of our charming Powder, to tell us any thing that we shall demand of him, so that I do suppose we may peremptorily conclude the day is our own; and now I will sing you a Catch.  R. L. 
Prithee do Patch, for I love thy Ketches dearly well.  I. P. 
Oh Master, you forgot honest Patch, but now if you please, leave out honest, and put in Master, for a little of that thing called Honesty, will go but a very little way with us both; But Mr. Patch, Mr. Tory, Mr. Tantivy, Mr. Coxcomb, Mr. Towzer, Mr. Tumbler, cum multis alijs, are such Genteel Titles of Honour, given us by the Whigs. that they will go along with us to our Graves, and those I like mighty well, because their Tongues are no slanders.  
You have quite put me out of my Catch, and I will sing you that some other time, in the mean time, let us go and catch them at their Side-board Treasonable Table.  R. L. 
But I would speak one word with Harry Premirement, and will give him one Dose more of our quantum meruit and charming powder, that so if it work well with him, it may do our Jobb effectually.  I. P. 
Vous avez ra●son Monsieur Harry venez ca  Harry. 
Je vien que vous plaict ils Messienrs.  R. L. 
Harry. Let me round you in the Ear: This Gentleman (Mr. Patch) hath informed me of mighty great things of you, and here is a Guiney for your farther encouragement.  Harry. 
Worthy Sir, You have so much obliged me, That I will resolve to run through Fire and Water, to serve either you or your good friend, or that glorious Cause, which you are now managing, with so much gallantry, secrecy and dexterity, and I am sure you are not a Rafter, but one of the main Pillars, both of Church and State, for all those noble ends and purposes, before mentioned.  R. L. 
Mr. Patch, upon my Life he's a brave Fellow, I think we have got Multum in Parvo over to our side; could any man have spoke more to the purpose, in so small a compass of ground.  I. P. 
I did manage him before you came, and I told him, you should be civil to him also.  
I beat the Bush, come you shall catch the Hare,  
If Harry prove right, you'll make 'em all to stare  
Like roasting Pigs, when Eyes are coming out,  
Come let's draw nigh; our Plot I do not doubt  
But will succeed, according to our mind,  
Which if it do, have at you ever kind.  
And all you Whigs, that round about there sit,  
Hating good Doctrine, as you hate good Wit.   

4.  T. C. 
From Toping Tantivies who wear Ribbons red,  
As a Badge of distinction, to show a green Head,  
And call themselves Tories; The Forlorn they have led,  
To bring Madam Scarlet in time here to Bed.  
Libera Nos, etc.  Whigs, 
Hum, hum, hum.  R. L. 
These are Merry Whigs I'll Swear, how many of these Stanza's that run so upon all four, have they dispatched already? Harry, I believe you can tell me.  Harry, 
Yes Sir, that I can, and a great many things more, which will make their Hearts ache, when I come to make a Discovery, of what I have at present, within this Brain Pan of mine; but Sir, the last they read to the Brotherhood, was Number 4. and they will go through with it before they have done, and there (if you have but your remembrances about you) you will hear Treason enough of all conscience to hang them up every Mother's Child of 'um.  I. P. 
Thou art a brave Boy, Harry, thank you for that, what if they should not go through slitch with their Litany, but omit some part of the most material and Treasonable part of it, will you tell us the rest after they are gone?  Harry. 
Yes, yes, that I will, for Mr. Tell-Truth gave it me, and I have it all by Heart, and can say it as perfectly as my Pater Noster, and if they should chance to miss, I shall rub up their Memories, and fork their Tobies, or else it shall cost me a fall, and if there be not plain downright Treason in that Litany, I am as much mistaken as ever I was in my life.  R. L. 
Well Mr. Patch, if this don't do, none of our measures will be taken right, at any time, I am sure.  Harry aside. 
Mr. Gibs, Hear how they vapour, I laugh in my fleeve.  
But let them laugh that wins, I'll make them grieve  
Before we have done with these old Shamming Tories,  
I'll tell them whiskers still for real Stories.  
But Mr Patch, let us hearken to some more of their  
Let any, and pray observe your hits.  
For since your name is changed to Monsieur Patch.  
I do expect that you observe and catch.  I. P. 
I will my good Master, and you shall see to boot,  
That at long run, I'll bring the Devil out,  
Hark, hark.   

5.  T. C. 
From Heraclitus Ridens, that Brazen-Face Tool,  
Who writes to get Bread, and makes himself Fool,  
Between Jest and Earnest, but his courage may cool,  
When the Commons and Catch shall give him a stool.  Whigs, 
hum, hum, hum.  
Libera Nos, etc.  I. P. 
Master, shall not Heractitus answer these Rogues now, for this too nearly concerns him, and I perceive he is most desperately nettled at them, for putting this slur upon him, now he is here in his own proper person.  R. L. 
You know our consultation together was, That whatever we heard them say, We were to answer nothing but Mum, and therefore neither of us must Retort, whatever we do hear, as to our own particulars, but afterwards we may all witness against them what we please.  
Nat. Ridens, Ben. I. P. and so we will, as sure as Eggs be Eggs.   

6.  T. C. 
From that Observator who would us now rob,  
Of all our five Senses, to do the Pope's ,  
Who its feared at the last will prove but a dull Hobb.  
When the Pope and his Party shall give him the bob.  
Libera Nos, etc.  R. L. 
mum, mum, mum.  whigs, 
hum, hum, hum,   

7.  T. C. 
From Brazenfaced Nat. that Billingsgate slave,  
Who writes for the Pope, that right Scarlet Knave,  
Who bids Nat. still writ Loyal, us all to outbrave,  
On purpose in time, here us all to enslave.  N. T. 
mum, mum, mum.  
Libera Nos, etc.  Whigs, 
hum, hum, hum.  Harry. 
There's a double one against not pray do not skip, Mr. Christianus, if you do, I will tell the truth.   

8.  T. C. 
From Protestant not, that true Romish Elf,  
Who tacks towards Tiber on purpose for Pelf,  
But let him beware of the old Roman shelf,  
And that after he's drowned he done't hang himself.  N. T. 
Mum, Mum.  
Libera Nos, etc.  Whigs, 
Hum, Hum, Hum.   

9  T. C. 
From I. P. That Goosecap and Fop of a Man.  
And all of that Tribe, from Bershcba to Dan,  
Who runs up and down like a Bell-wether Ram,  
To blind the Pope's PLOT, by a Protestant Sham.  I. P. 
Mum, Mum, Mum.  
Libera Nos, etc.   

10.  T. C. 
From Ben. Tooks new Vessel and Cargo of Lice,  
And from his late Venture to Whigland for Rice,  
Which new spot of Land is full of rare Mice,  
And it is in Utopia all covered with Ice.  
Libera Nos, etc.  B. T. 
Mum, Mum, Mum.  R. L. 
A Pax of these Whigs, this wont do our business, I do not hear one word like unto Treason as yet, in this new Loyal Protestant Litany.  
If Harry shame us, we shall be shamed for ever,  I. P. 
Don't question that, now is the time or never  Harry. 
You see they begin but moderately; but you shall hear by and by what whisking High Treason, they have about the latter end of their Litany.  R. L. 
Come, come, Let them go on and prosper, Hark, hark, hark, Boys hark.   

11.  T. C. 
From the Libelling Tribe of Towzers in grain,  
Who sprang from St. Omers, a very fine strain,  
To be here Nursed up, Loyal Fans to defame,  
And damn all Dissenters on purpose for gain.  Whigs, 
Hum, Hum, Hum.  
Libera Nos, etc.   

12.  T. C. 
From all those grand Tories. who would us now bring,  
From a Protestant Prince, to a true Popish King,  
Which if once here effected, the Bells they must ring,  
And the Poor Fans at Tyburn fetch many a swing.  
Libera Nos, etc.   

13.  
From French Whores in England, and Jesuits from France.  
From a Popish Successor, who would lead us a Dance,  
From Tiber to Tyburn, where we must advance,  
And take our last farewell in Ned Colemans chance.  
Libera Nos, etc.   

14.  
From all such Sham-Plotters, who now run about,  
From Tavern to Tavern, and make such a rout,  
To trepan honest Men, and root them all out,  
Their Villainies sure will at length be found out.  
Libera Nos, etc.   

15.  
From such Devil's incarnate, who would us now shame,  
By a new Counter Plot, the true old one to Damn,  
Where there's thousands engaged, a fine pleasant flame,  
A whole College of Joiner's, although hardly one man.  
Libera Nos, etc.   

16.  
From the Bell and the Dragon, who still do so rage's,  
With such Fury and Madness, in almost every Page,  
Of R. L. H. and T. th'grand Hobbs of this Age,  
Sent Post from Belzebub to act on his Stage.  Whigs, 
Hum, Hum, Hum,  
Libera Nos, etc.   

17.  
From those Bullies in Newgate, who now do so rant,  
And gave thanks in Print, for a New College Plant,  
Who spoke Words like Treason, as some Tories grant,  
When they were hooping and hollowing at an Irish Courant.  
Libera Nos, etc.   

18.  
From such Irish Cattle, who cannot far well,  
And be Treated by Friends, but must presently tell,  
Such words to requite them, as will ring out their Knell,  
Only Treason and Murder as a Passport to Hell.  
Libera Nos, etc.  D. A. 
In troth Mr. Observator, this Litany tends nothing to Edification, this Rogue Harry I am afraid hath shamm'd us, for I have caught him napping (I think, as Moss caught his Mare) for you may remember he told us of a Loyal Protestant Litany, both for Church and State, and we hear nothing as yet of the Church, which is Hysteron proteron (secundum Gracum) or as we say in English, The Cart before the Horse, unless the Church Litany be yet behind.  Har. 
Why Gentlemen, let me tell you, it is very usual with these Whiglanders so to do, for if they should proceed according to your expectation, you would then think they were regular Sons of the Church of England, but as to that, I leave it to your more grave and prudent Considerations, whether it be true or false, but the Church Litany is just now coming, within two or three Stanza's, and the great Hogan Mogan Treason comes after that.  D. A. 
Well Harry, thou art a brave fellow, if thy words prove true, come, we will have yet patience to hear the remainder.  Harry. 
Why Gentlemen, If the worst come to the worst (that is to say) if they should break off abruptly, when they have done with the Church (before they come to the Treason) I have it all by Heart, and also the Key to it, to unlock every Syllable, as Mr. Tel-Truth hath Explained it to me, and you shall as surely have it from me, as this Cap is now upon my Head (which I do wear at present for a Cold which I caught setting up too late with them, at their private Cabals) but I had rather you should hear the Treason Viva Voce, which I presume would be much more to your full content and satisfaction, for the making out of the Protestant PLOT, which you have already posted all over the Nation, and should you now fail thereof, I should be hearty sorry for you (and your Reputations sake) I will assure you.  D. A. 
Upon my honest word, he speaks like a Conjurer, I will give him one Guinny more, for his future encouragement, take it here.  Harry. 
I most humbly thank you Sir.   

19  
From a Learned grand Council of five hundred Men,  
With brave Nobles and Peers of a true Loyal Stem,  
To be fetched up to School and sent home again,  
On the eighth morning after, when the Clock had siruck ten.  
Libera Nos, etc.   

20.  D. A. 
I can have no patience, but sit upon Thorns, till the Church Litany comes on, and then the High-Treason after that, and then we will sing,  
The Delights of the Bottle, and the Charms of good Wine, etc.  Harry. 
Good Sir, It is now within a Stanza or two, and then after that, Oh then we will sing, God bless our King,  
And hay then up go we.  
When Fans and all the Kingdoms Foes,  
Shall truckle to our Swearing Blows.  
Upon the Tripple-Tree.  
Tory Stranger aside.  
Hark hither, Sirrah, here is another Guinny to buy you half a dozen of Cravats, but I would not have you buy them of that Exchange man, that comes here sometimes.  Harry. 
I most humbly thank you Noble Sir, I understand you, and shall observe your Directions to an hairs breadth.   

21.  T. C. 
From a Dons solemn Oath, if he Swears he will bring,  
All things to rights, when he comes to be King,  
Although his hopes are but small, as to any such thing,  
In regard the old POPE, he will here then let in.  
Libera Nos, etc.  R. L. 
But, Harry, can you tell me with your Key, what they do mean by the Great Dons Oath?  Harry. 
I had thought Mr. Observator you would not have asked me such an easy question, which is so obvious to every Man's understanding, at the very first pronunciation: do not you know that Seigneor Don Alonzo de Toledo is the most Catholic Spanish Prince on the South side of the Water, upon whom the Pope hath conferred this small Northern spot of Heretic Ground (as being formerly part of St. Peter's Patrimony) so soon as he can get Possession thereof by any means whatsoever?  D. A. 
I think Mr. Observator, the Lad hath given you a fair account of your particular question, but whereas you did peradventure expect another Explication, I would not have you to be too censorious against the Whigs, but take their expressions in the plain Litteral and Grammatical construction.  R. L. 
Doctor, I thank you, and I must ingeniously confess, I have been too much Guilty of those absurdities, which I am sure hath gained me more Enemies than ever I shall get Friends as long as I live; but I perceive you set upon Thorns, I do think you may now listen, for they are come to the Church Litany of Libera Nos, etc.  D. A. 
I am glad of that with all my Heart.   

22.  T. C. 
From a dull Preaching Hocus, who dotes on a Form,  
And a scandalous Vicar, who thinks it no scorn  
To tope all the Week, and the next Sunday Morn,  
To rail at Dissenters to keep himself warm.  Whigs, 
Hum, Hum, Hum.  
Libera Nos, etc.  D. A. 
Mum, Mum, Mum.   

23.  T. C. 
From all the Tantiveys in Pulpit and Press,  
Who still do so Rant (have at you by guess)  
Against all Dissenters, them for to distress,  
For which Love and Kindness, some in time may them bless.  
Libera Nos, etc.   

24.  
From all those Grandees, who would lead us a Dance,  
Both in Church and in State, like the Monsieur of France,  
(Though ere long such bold Traitors, their Necks may perchance,  
The Sovereign Tree learn how to advance.)  
Libera Nos, etc.   

25.  
From Dogmatical Preachers, who are grown so sublime,  
As to make Monarches absolute, and a point so Divine,  
So that nothing must down with them but the right Line.  
Which some of them Love as well as Women and Wine.  
Libera Nos, etc.   

26.  
From all those young Clergy, who grate on that Bone  
(Instructed by Towzer) called Forty and One,  
Who just like the suckow Sings all in one Tone,  
And sucks up those Eggs, which are none of her own.  
Libera Nos, etc.   

27.  
From such lubberly Drones, who would make us believe,  
We must pin all our Faith on the Church of Rome's sleeve,  
The which most rare PLOT, if once they achieve,  
Our Lives with new Ropes they'll surely reprieve.  
Libera Nos, etc.   

28.  
From the Arian Doctors, who damned th' Nicene Creed,  
Who made the true Christian so often to bleed,  
Which Sanguis Martyrum was right Catholic Seed,  
And with Idem per Idem some still would us seed.  
Libera Nos, etc.   

29.  
From all that pretend to an absolute Fate,  
Before we were Born, both of Love and of Hate,  
(The Sermons they Preach, it is nothing but prate,  
For if fixed so firm, what need their Debate?)  
Libera Nos, etc.   

30.  
From such Destiny-Mongers, who have been so bold,  
In Faith and in Virtue, to make Men so cold,  
When the last Trump shall sound, both for Young and for Old.  
For this their presumption they may be cajoled.  
Libera Nos, etc.   

31.  T. C. 
From a conjuring Clergy, of the right Roman stamp,  
Whom our Bodies and Souls would here willingly cramp,  
And all our Religion would likewise new vamp,  
And afterwards lead us by a dull glimmering Lamp.  
Libera Nos, etc.  D. A. 
Harry, I think they will make Paul's work of their Church Lettany, for I am quite weary and so is Mr. Observator, and so we are all.  Harry, 
Peace a little, and you will catch some Fish presently, the Treason comes within two Stanzas more, and so hay then up go we.   

32.  T. C. 
From all that pretend to such a Light from within,  
As to give out to the World they are without Sin,  
And slily catch many with this pretty Gin,  
Though they oftentimes are on a merry Pin.  Tories, 
Huzza.  
Libera Nos, etc.   

33.  
Now to all that wish well to our thrice NobleState,  
By King, Lords and Commons 'gainst which some do so prate,  
Let the first have thy Love, let the last have thy hate,  
And let our King by his Power them all dissipate;  
And when they Rebel, let this be their Fate,  
That Catch near High- Holborn, may give them check mate.  
We beseech thee to hear us, etc.  Whigs, 
Hum, Hum, Hum,  
Amen, Amen, Amen.  Whigs. 
Mr. Theophilus Christianus, We return you many thanks for this kindness, wherewith we are all very well pleased, but how the Tories, the Tantivies, and the Papists will approve of it, we cannot forestand.  T. C. 
Come Harry, take money of us all, for it is near Exchange time.  Harry, 
Pray Gentlemen and my Masters don't tell me of paying, but go on with your Litany, for the best is yet behind, and which will tend most to Edification, not only to yourselves, but also to these Gentlemen (my noble Benefactors) whom I did invite to this Table to hear the whole, and you have omitted the most material part in the said Litany.  T. C. 
What art thou distracted Harry, or else art thou drunk this morning before Exchange time?  Harry, 
Neither the one nor the other, but I will assure you I am in very good earnest, but pray Sir let me whisper you one word in the Ear, I must say and I will tell you the reason of it by and by.  Whigs, 
Come to pay, to pay, Allous tous ensemble.  
Exeunt Whigs.  Harry. 
This was a most devilish thing that they did break off so abruptly, burr however you remember, Gentlemen, your promise, and I will assure you i'll be as big as my word, for I scorn to put a slur upon you, who have been so over-kind to me.  D. A. 
Harry, I was possessed with a kind of panic fear that they would serve us so, for it had been much better to have heard that High Treason viva voce, than from you at the second hand.  R. L. 
But come Harry, let's hear (brave Boy) the remainder, and we must make the best of a bad Market, and if you can Swear to what you tell us, That it was their Act and Deed, and all did consent to it (when it was formerly in Reading) with their loud Acclamations, as they have done to day; we shall do their business for them notwithstanding.  Harry. 
Yes, I shall endeavour to do that, and bring you in likewise two substantial Witnesses more, for the corroborating my single Testimony.  I. P. 
Here you Rogue, take this sweet Angel to put in your Pocket to remember your good Friend.  Mr. Gibs. 
Harry, Your Master knocks above, don't you hear how he Thunders? he has knocked thrice already.  Harry. 
Gentlemen, My Master is taken extremely ill, even almost at the point of Death, and he hath sent me with all the speed imaginable for his Doctor, who lives at the other end of the Town; but Gentlemen, I will (the very first opportunity) come to sam's Coffeehouse (I hope within a night or two) and give you a full Relation of every particular, and many more things, which will be worth all your Observations.  Mr. Gibs. 
Harry, Your Master calls again, to see if you are gone.  Harry: 
I go, I go: Gentlemen, Adieu jusques au revoir.  D. A. 
Mr. Gibs: Take money here; I am afraid this Rogue Harry will shame us all at the last.  I. P. 
Mum, Mum, Mum for that Doctor Allous.  Exeunt Tories Omnes. Enter Harry, statim. 

And are they gone? Oh may they never more  
Return again, upon my Master's Shore,  
Where Loyalty and Truth doth steer our Tribes:  
Not cursed Oaths, or any Roman Bribes.  
To bring us over to that cursed Evil,  
Of running headlong to (old Nick) the Devil.  
When first they came, I straightway smelled a rot,  
And did as soon resolve a Counterplot.  
Against these bold Impostors, from their Hellish Sire,  
Who doth them all with sham's and Lies inspire:  
(Against all those who would pluck down his Throne)  
And Shame us still with number Forty one.  
'Tis true, their Money I have lately got,  
Which was to Swear a real Whigland PLOT  
As they did hope; But stay, I never meant  
To wrong my Conscience, or a Parliament:  
As they have done, and will do still the same,  
Because they hope to have an aftergame.  
When once they prove by that true Romish Elf,  
That Justice Godfrey truly killed himself.  
Now for those guineas which they did advance,  
They'll serve us (Gibs) to drink a Health to Prance;  
To Doctor Oates, to Wilkinson and those,  
Who are the Roman Tory-Rory Foes.   Mr. Gibs. 
Brisk bonny Lads, for these your pretty Pranks,  
I hope the Whigs will give you hearty thanks,  
'Twas Nobly done, and fallere non est fraus,  
To a Deceiver when he comes with cross,  
On this fide and with Pile on the other,  
On purpose to ensnare his honest Brother:  
And cheat him of his Liberty and Life,  
And put the Nation into such a strife.  
To clear the stains of these accursed Elves.  
Which in due time they may be hanged themselves.  
Give them but Hemp enough, they have begun  
To twist a Cord, the which their rising Sun  
Shall ne'er untwist, cheer up (my Heart) I know  
This Shame of yours will make the Whigs to crow.  
And all the Tories to hang down their Heads,  
And make the Papists run unto their Beads:  
And offer Incense to the Virgin Mary,  
And beg of her for to chastise bold Harry;  
Who hath so rudely countermined all those  
Who were her Children and her Sons great Foes.    

Dialogus Tertius, serious and tragical.  
In II. Parts.  

Pars I.  

Hocus Catholicus Romanus.  
When sturdy Storms are gone and passed,  
Shall pleasant Calms appear,  
And though we have been tossed, at last  
We see the heavens are clear,  
The Winds blow fair, the Sky's serene above,  
And, Lo, that Spot, which we so dearly love,  
Cheer up, dear Heart, the Stars are bright and clear,  
Lift up your head, for yonders Dover Peer.   

Pocus Catholicus Romanus.  
Te Deum Laudamus. But a Pax of his Holiness, notwithstanding, for his Servus Servorum sham's, in singling out among the rest of our Conjuring Tribe, to leave our stately Cells, where we did fair so deliciously every day in the Week (except good Friday) and to be exposed now to so much hazard (all winds and weathers) and had we been caught napping, we should as sure have been gelded, as the old Pope's dog was, when he run at Sheep: And besides, you may remember.  
Oh, the little House that stands under the Hill, Where was Wine and Tobacco, with Women at will, Which we did forsake like Bees from their Hives, But they must needs go, when the old Devil Drives.  Hocus. 
Upon my Word, Pocus, You speak very affectionately, and warmly, as to our late expedition; but you must remember, It was upon the Account Currant, viz. For the good of the Catholic Church: and this sweet Cordial must qualify the Asperity of a Thousand bitter Potions, and since our Stars have been so propitious as to bring us safe into this Harbour. Let us now offer up large Tapers of Thanksgiving unto the Blessed Virgin, for commanding her Son to send his Angels to deliver us out of those tempestuous Storms, wherewith our Vessel was even now environed.  Pocus. 
You speak something of Reason, I must confess, therefore light the Tapers, and let's have 2 or 3 Ave Mary's, and 2 or 3 Pater Noster's: and then lets read-over our Commission again, according to our Primary Instructions from our Holy Father and his College of Physicians.  Hocus. 
I wish we have not lost our late Commission in that cold Country where we were like to be frozen to death, and not an honest Whore to be had in the whole Country to make use of in the time of our Extremity.  Pocus. 
Here's the Commission, pray hearken to your Instructions.  
And if therein, we have but good Success,  
Oh Heavens, how St. Peter will both us bless.   

To Hocus Catholicus Romanos and his Brother Pocus, at Jesus Golledg, these with Care and speed, d. d.  
Servus Servorum, etc.  
Right trusty Friends, and Subjects of our Hope,  
(not to the Prince of Darkness but the POPE)  
We do command you in St. Peter's Name,  
Whose true Successors, we ourselves proclaim,  
By right Divine (and not by false pretence,  
As Whigs give-out, only for Peter-pences)  
Next under Christ, for to support and keep,  
His tender Lambs, and little flock of sheep,  
Which is his Church, whom we do represent,  
(●●t vi & Armis, in full Parliament)  
When as we sit upon our Chair of State.  
Where neither Rival nor yet bold Checkmate,  
We will admit, for to draw near or come  
Within our bounds, until the day of Doom,  
Upon which day, we must surrender all,  
Both Bag and Baggage and our Capitol.  
Now we command you: straightway hence to go  
And ship yourselves unto our Sweedish Foe.  
When Martin Luther did our Church affright,  
To make our Lambs to him turn Proselyte,  
By Arguments drawn from his furious Pen:  
Just like a Frantic shut up in his Den,  
Where you come there be sure you make no Bones,  
Of any thing (but only of your Stones)  
Pray have a Care whereby you may advance  
Our Church, our Empire and Intrigue with France.  
And while you're there, their idle Consubstance  
Do what you can to turn the Tide to Trans;  
This having done, we do command you more,  
From thence you Sail unto great Britain's shore,  
When once arrived within Our Port of Dover,  
Read once again your new Commission over,  
Observe it well, therein are weighty Points,  
Enough to fix and settle all our Joints,  
Which have been strained, 'ere since that cursed time  
Bold Harry's Codpiece did our Church decline.  
From thence straightway advance into that Town  
Which bids defiance to our Triple Crown:  
Damn her, and sink her, by what means you can,  
Murders, Massacres, Fires, and that Man  
Who is her head, and bids us bold Defiance,  
And upon whom we can have no Reliance:  
Be sure you strike him to his very Life,  
This will put all things out of Doubt and Strife.  
The Towns our own, if he were once but dead,  
we'd bring ourselves there straightway into Bed,  
If this you do, Return unto your home,  
You shall be Pillars in our Church of ROME.  
Or, if you will, you shall have Coleman's Fate,  
Saints after Death, now Pillars in our State,  
This we do Promise. In our own great Name,  
If not performed, ne'er take our Words again.  
Witness ourselves, and all Saint Peter's Fry  
(Upon the day of his Nativity.)  
Now standing by us, near our Royal Throne,  
We like their Heads, But love to reign alone.  
And signed be our chiefest Scribe of State,  
Our Ink-horn-Lord, who is our constant Mate.  
Signed, Signior, Don John Alonzo Furioso, de Lucifero, principal Secretary of State to his infallible Highness, and true Successor of S. Peter, and supreme head of Christ's holy Catholic Church, over all Kings, Princes and Potentates whatsoever, until the general Resurrection.  Pocus. 
Come, let's not miss one hair's breadth of our large Instructions, but however, I had rather be a Pillar in the Church of Rome, durante vita, than to be a Canonized Saint in the Church of Rome, post mortem, for taking a running Jump from Tiber to Tyburn for the good of the Good Old Cause.  Hocus. 
I believe you without swearing; for to tell you the Truth, by I— I am of the same Judgement to a Cow's thumb: and though, here and there, one hot spirited Zealot, for the Catholic Cause, may be so far transported as to venture his Neck: yet you know how our-Superiours, at home, do put them in their Ignoramus Calendar, for a Company of Goose-caps, Coxcombs and Jack-puddings upon that account.  Pocus. 
They do so, and you may remember before we came away how many they had lately of Saint Coleman's Disciples put in there upon the Accomt aforesaid: And how did they almost split themselves with laughing when they read their Confessions. That THEY all died Innocent: and, That it was like in a short-time to pass for currant, That Sir Edmund bury Godfrey was Felo de se, when they themselves in a Consultation in our own College, had laid a Platform, although in some things as to the whole of their Design it proves unsuecessful.  Hocus. 
Had not some of our St. Omers Beagles (and deepmouthed Hounds) run upon a false scent, and, in stead of pursuing the wild Boars, had not fallen upon and worried the innocent sheep, we had done our Business, especially before this time; but, hinc illae Lachrimae, and we must be contented to make the best of a bad Market. But yet tempora mutantur, etc. and we may yet make an aftergame of it, if we can but play our Cards closely.  Pocus. 
Come Olbion days, The Cocks will bravely crow,  
And like bold Ridens, Gape, A Raree show:  
In those brave times, the Birds will sweetly sing,  
And we may hope to have a glorious Spring:  
The Seed is sown: The Corn gins to mount;  
Come we'll attempt. To be Lords Paramount.  Jocus. 
I'll do my best to serve the Church and Pope,  
But I'll beware of Coleman's twisted Rope.  Pocus. 
To serve Don Signior, I'll do what I can,  
But I'll beware of Harris' Trepan;  
Come let's be Wise, and sometimes be Merry,  
Not always Plotting, sometimes let's drink Sherry,  
For to revive Us, when we are in Durnps,  
Lest that the WHIGS should turn up still for Trumpets  
And not Our Church, which they proclaim is Evil;  
But if we can, we'll Post 'em to the Devil.  Hocus. 
Sometimes let's use that Modest Recreation,  
Like Our Superiors in their long Vacation;  
When Dead FLESH is forbid, they take in Store,  
Of Living LAMBS, which they do Love like ORE,  
You may remember under Our great Hill,  
In Fasting Times; They had such Lambs at Will,  
And told those still, which sometimes brought them Chink  
That at such things St. Peter he would Wink;  
And when Confession of those Sins were made,  
They might begin a new Score, on that Trade;  
This they do tell Us is no Mortal Sin,  
Therefore sometimes, let's Play at in and in.  Pocus. 
With all my Heart, true Trout, I'll follow Thee,  
But lets beware still of the Gallow-Tree.  Hocus. 
Ne'er question that, we won't proceed so far,  
Though we are now, St. Peter's Men of War;  
Yet being now beyond his Reach, we may,  
Do sometimes like him, who once ran astray:  
And rather than be Martyrs for Our Church.  
we'll leave both POPE and Peter in the lurch.  Pocus. 
Come now after we have taken a Nap or two, let's take Post for London, with all Our Letters Credential to those Gentlemen at the Wild-house, which have been there so long upon the Account Courant.  
And I have one Letter in particular to Heraclitus Ridens: to Draw the PO ES Picture in small, for one of Our Superiors (you know who I mean) That Signior Sophister in Our College, who doth intent to present it to his Holiness, for his next New-Years-Gift, in hopes of a Fool's Cap, now there are so many Vacancies.  Hocus. 
I know he can do it to the Life, for before I went to Rome, he was esteemed the best Limner in England, upon that account, and his name, as I remember was Mr.— but Mum for that.  Pocus. 
Come Brother Hocus, surge, surge, Diluculo surgere Saluberrimum est. Our Horses are just ready, and we shall reach London in good time. Come Drawer, and Chamberlain bring us a Bill.  Drawer. 
Here is a Bill Sirs, in the whole 21 s. 6 d. Besides the Oat-stealers Bill, for the Hire of Your Horses, he will give you an Account of it.  Hocus. 
There is a Guiny for You, and 12 d. in Silver over, and so Far you well.  Drawer. 
Gentlemen, you are Hearty Welcome.  Pocus. 
Here Oatstealer, here is Money for Your Horses, and 12 d. more, for your Care and Pains.  O— 
I thank you Hearty Gentlemen and wish you well to London, but Pray have a care how you pass over Gadshill, and if you pass that and Shouters-hill, you need not fear Robbing till you come at Tyburr, and there Catch may Rob you of your huffing Periwigs for calling me Oatstealler, for I never was called so before in my Life.  Pocus. 
Prithee Honest Fellow be not Angry, for I had that Appellation from the Drawer.  O— 
I thank you for that Sir. And I am resolved to bombast him as soon as you are gone, but however i'll give you a Couple of Verses which comes into my Remembrance seeing your new Periwigs:  
For Periwigs, Glass Coaches, lose Gowns and a Whore, This Age is most Famous, to those gone before.  Hocus. 
This is an Arch Rogue, i'll Warrant him, but Brother Pocus, I wish that this Word Tyburn, and this Word Whore, be not Ominous Expressions to one or both of Us.  Pocus. 
Amen, says the Clerk,  
But he that doth Mind such mad Tittle Tattle,  
Deserves in my Mind to have a fine Rattle;  
For such things as these are nothing but Fables,  
Only fitting at Supper, for old Woman's Tables.  Hocus. 
I have now a prospect of London, from this Bowling-Green, where I have Played many a Game at Rubbers, with several Friends, whom we are now going to Lodge withal at the Wild-house.  Pocus. 
But it will be very late before we shall reach London and have Supped, and then how shall we pass through the Watches at London-Bridge, Ludgate, and Temple-Bar.  Hocus. 
We shall do well enough for that, leave it to my single discretion, though in other more Important affairs, we will lay Our Heads together for consultation.  Pecus. 
We are just come to the Bridge. Pray Remember your single Management.  Watchman. 
Stand, who comes there, Stand, I say, or else i'll run my Halberd in the Bowels of You.  Pocus. 
Why what's the matter a Man must be Commanded to stand so all of a sudden, when he is going home to his Lodging?  Watch. 
Come before the Constable, it is very late, and the Times are very Dangerous, and my Master will hardly let you pass, unless you give a very good account where you have been, there are so many Priests and Jesuits come into England, & come skulking into our City in the Night time, that my Lord Mayor hath given the Constables of this Gate a particular Charge to be very careful, that none pass without particular Examination and Satisfaction to Mr. Constable.  Hocus. 
Watchmen, hark hither, one word in Your Ear, here is 12 d. for you to Drink; Is your Master (who is on his Watch to Night) a Whig or a Tory.  Watch. 
Pray Sir do not say any thing that I told you, but he is a very honest Man, and a reputed Whig.  Beadle. 
Watchmen, Why do you keep those persons so long in a Chat? Why don't you bring them before the Constable?  Constable. 
Gentlemen, whence came you, and where have you been out so late these troublesome Times, wherein we cannot rest in our Beds without some Alarm, or other every Night, by the Cursed Papists, and that (which is worst of all) since their late horrid and damnable Plot, of blowing up our most gracious King, and his Loyal Parliaments, was so Fully (by Dr. Oats, Coleman's Letters, and other corroberating Circumstances) and so Wonderfully discovered.  Hocus. 
Mr. Constable, You speak like a Loyal Subject and good Citizen, I wish all the Constables, Captains, and Citizens of London, had the same Sentiments, for I do persuade myself if those Cursed Jesuits who flock daily from Rome, and other parts from beyond Seas, be not closely and narrowly Traced and Observed, they will make an Aftergame of their former Plets, and bring us all here in a short time to Utter Ruin and Confusion; but Mr. Constable to give You an Answer to your Question (though I must confess it is something too late for Men to pass such a Worthy and Diligent Constables-watch as you have clearly Demonstrated) we have been to take Our leaves of some Friends here in the Borough (which are all of your Stamp) and are for the Country to Morrow Morning; We were loath to part, being pleasantly Merry, and we did (I must confess) Drink many Healths to the Kings most Excellent Majesty (whom God long Preserve) and to the prosperity of the English Nation, and to an happy Union between his Majesty, and his next Parliament.  Const. 
Gentlemen such as you may pass my Watch at any Time, being in the same good order you are in, Watchmen open the Gates for them, and take your Lantern one of You, and light them over the Bridge, or Home to their Lodgings, if they please, and so Gentlemen Your humble Servant a good night to you.  Ho. 
Mr. Const. we give you our hearty Thanks for this Civility. Pray Heavens prosper you, and the Loyal City of London, with all the true Protestant Citizens.  Po. 
Here Watchman there is 6 d. for your Pains, for we are just at Our Lodging, good Night. I perceive Hocus your Wits don't run a Wooll-gathering, I must leave Ludgate and Temple-bar to you likewise.  Ho. 
No, you shall do that, 'tis good to Exercise your ex tempore Faculties sometimes.  Fo. 
Well I will try then for once, and see what I can do, if a Man should be put to his Shifts.  Century. 
Stand, who comes there, Stand; If you do notstand the third Time (for I have bid You stand twice already) you must expect a Brace of Bullets in your Bowels.  Ho. 
We do stand, call your Corporal. What is this the Royal Exchange? Pocus look to your Hits, for we shall have a hard Task of it I am afraid, who expected a Guard of Soldiers at this time of Night?  Corporal. 
Whence came you? Musqueteers' Gentlemen advance, and make all ready.  Po. 
Are you the Captain of the Guard for this Night, and in this place?  Corp 
No Sir, but his Deputy to examine you, (and better than) you at this time of the Night, & that you shall know before we part good Mr. Huffington.  Po. 
I say, I will go before your Captain, for we have some Business of very great Consequence to Impart unto him.  Cor. 
Musqueteers open to the right and left, and conduct these 2 huffing Gallants to our Mainguard where our Captain is now drinking his Bottles of Wine with his Housekeepers, who came out the last Night to attend him in there own proper Persons, and when they come out, he is as Noble as a Prince, although the Whigs do so bespatter him.  Hocus. 
That word Brother Pocus (Whigs) was worth 10 s. to you, if you have your Wits about you to make use of it.  Po. 
I understand him, let me alone with the Captain.  Captain. 
Gentlemen Soldiers stand to your Arms, who comes there? Stand.  Officers. 
They are Files of Musqueteers come in from the Corporal, with 2 Gentlemen in the midst of them.  Capt. 
Gentlemen whence came you, and why so late out these troublesome Times, as if you were going up and down the Streets to set Our City on Fire, as the Papists did Anno 1666.  Pocus. 
Most Noble Captain, I will tell you in short; we have been out late (we must Confess) and we have been also briskly Merry, but it was upon so good and commendable an account, that I do persuade myself, had you been there, you would have joined Issue with Us, withal your Heart.  Captain. 
Upon what Account was that I Pray? and do not you put any Sham-Tricks upon me, for if you should, I will assure you, I'll lay you fast enough, and have you before the Civil Magistrate to Morrow Morning.  Pocus. 
Sir, Upon his Majesty's return from Newmarket, accompanied with his Royal Highness, this Night, we went with several of Our Friends, unto the TAVERN, to Drink both their HEALTHS, with Prosperity to all the Honest TORIES, and TANTIVYS, to honest NAT. HERACLITUS, and the OBSERVATOR, who doth so MALL the WHIGS and DISSENTERS in their Weekly and quotidian Exercises, and this we did with such loud Acclamations and HUZZA'S, that we daunted all the WHIGS in the said TAVERN, and made them run sneaking away, like so many Dogs that had burnt their Tails, and after that, only TORIES came into the House, and were extremely well pleased with Our Pleasant Mirth and Jollity.  Captain. 
And so should I have been also, had I been so happy as to have been in the Company. Come Soldiers, open to the Right and Left, and let the Gentlemen pass Home quietly, and had I known where they had been out so late in my Grand-Rounds, I would have marched to have given them one Broadside for their Loyalty to their Prince, and their Respects to the Right Line, as it is by Law Established.  Hocus. 
Good Night most Noble Captain, and to the rest of your Gentlemen Soldiers.  Capt. 
We may bid you good Morrow for the Day gins to break, but being so pleasantly Merry, you did not know how the time passed away.  Po. 
Well Brother did not I come off indifferent well?  Hocus. 
But had you been out, or made the least halt, I was ready with a pure Fancy in my Head, to help a Lame Dog over the Style.  Po. 
Very well, now for the Wild-house, without any more let or molestation, for it is now broad day light.  Hocus. 
But let us call at the Wonder as we go along, and there perhaps we may light upon some Wonderful Wine, or some  Women, or some  Strange Fortune, for I had a notable Dream the last Night, as being at that very House, and therefore I would very fain call there, and refresh Ourselves for some Time.  Pocus. 
With all my Heart, good Brother Hocus.  Bar-Boy. 
You are Welcome Gentlemen, show a Room there, the SUN is Empty, show the Gentlemen up Stairs.  Drawer. 
What Wine will you please to Drink?  Hocus. 
A Bottle of your best Canary, and make a Toast, and make haste and get us a Barrel of Oysters immediately.  Drawer. 
It shall be done with all Celerity and Expedition imaginable,  Pocus. 
Well said Honest Drawer, thou speakest like a Man.  Drawer. 
Carry up some Oyster-Knives, Vinegar and Pepper, and a Cut-Rowl into the Sun presently, for they are in great haste; they look like persons of Quality by their Habit, and their light coloured Periwigs.  
Here Gentlemen is a Bottle of Canary will make a Cat speak, it hath such a Flavour and Gust with it, after it is down Gutter lane.  Hocus. 
Upon my Life Brother it is most excellent Canary, and the Oysters are most incomparable likewise. But Drawer, What Ladies are those singing so sweetly in the next Room by themselves?  Drawer. 
Sir, You must excuse me for that, for they have charged me upon their Blessing not to discover them.  Pocus. 
Oh Heavens! what Ravishing Voices they have got? Drawer, here is 5 s. for Thee to drink their Health.  Drawer. 
Truly Gentlemen, You have so much obliged me, that although I am almost under an Oath of Secrecy, yet I must needs tell you for your Civilities sake.  Hocus. 
Well said, and if by Your Declaring the Truth, it turn any thing to our advantage, I will assure you, Drawer, we will be very grateful to you upon that account.  Drawer. 
Sirs, They are two persons of great quality, and Virgins who come here sometimes to refresh themselves, as having some Relations near this place, who will come to them e'er they go; they are very great Fortunes, for an Uncle of theirs that is Dead, did leave them Ten Thousand pounds a piece, and they have so many Servanrs, that do accost them, that they are forced to come to my Master's House, remote from their Lodgings, to divert themselves, and that none should know where to find them.  Pocus. 
May we not know their particular Names?  Drawer. 
They are very shy of that, especially in regard their Uncle came by a violent Death; though some say, he dyed-upon a good account: and besides, there are some Gentlemen, that have Courted them, knowing of their Names, have sent them Acrostic Verses upon their Names, which they have Burnt, as soon as Received, because they were such Balderdash stuff, and almost perfect Nonsense; although I have heard them say, If any of their Servants could send them a Copy of complete Acrostic Verses, they would accept of them for Husbands upon that very account, because by that they would show something of Ingenuity, and Ingenious Persons they Love dearly, because they are so themselves.  Pocus 
But pray good Drawer, let us know their Names. If you have any respect for us, for we are a couple of Bachelors of a good Family, and competent Estates, and we do not question, but if you will bring us Acquainted with them, we may stand as fair, as to matter of Husbands for them as other Men.  Drawers. 
I do not question it in the least, for your Presence and Deportment, bespeaks you Persons of no mean Quality, as far as I can apprehend. Their Names are Mrs. Isabel, and Mrs. foanna Coleman.  Hocus. 
What are they as to their persuasions, in matters of a Religious concern?  Drawer. 
They are both Roman Catholics.  Pocus. 
Were they any Relation to Coleman the Traitor?  Drawer. 
Yes Sir, He was their Uncle, and they will tell you, that he was a Martyr and not a Traitor.  Hocus. 
And so would I tell them, if I were once Acquainted with them, for we are Roman Cathelicks as well as themselves, but the Truth is not to be spoken at all times.  Drawer. 
But Mum for that, I understand you very well; but that was the Gentleman, who left them this great Fortune, and they come here constantly three times a Week from the Pall Mall, where they have most stately Lodgings, that would Dazzle a Man's Eyes almost to behold.  Pocus. 
You must needs prevail so far with them, as that we may Kiss their Hands before we go.  Drawer. 
I shall use my Endeavours, Gentlemen, to serve you, and will bring you Word by and by of their Pleasure therein.  Hocus. 
Here is 5 s. more for your Encouragement.  Pocus. 
My Brother Hocus, we must write some Acrostic Verses upon their Names, for I perceive by the Drawer, that will touch them to the quick.  Hocus. 
I do protest, they are most curious Girls;  
I'll strain my Noddle for such Orient Pearls.  Pocus. 
And I likewise resolve to try my Skill,  
Ten Thousand Pounds will force out Wit at William.  Hocus. 
My Blood rebels, I have no Mind to stir,  
Unless they beat me like a wand'ring Cur,  
Out of their Presence, when he comes for Meat,  
Although poor Dog, he looks for no such Treat.  Pocus. 
I find myself so Stabbed with CUPIDS Bow,  
I have no Mind, neither to stir nor go.  Hocus. 
I find Myself, likewise so much in LOVE,  
I hope these ANGELS dropped down from above,  
For to Salute us, at Our coming Home,  
And to requite us. for that Service done,  
For PETER'S Sake, and for the Church of ROME.  Pocus. 
But however, let Us this Night go for the Wild-house, and come again to Morrow.  Hocus. 
Hang Sorrow, cast away Care,  
We have left the POPE behind Us;  
And We shall get now Ladies fair,  
Where he shall never find Us.  Drawer. 
Ladies, I overthrow your charming Voices will procure you most gallant Fortunes, at the long run, provided that I use my endeavours, which I am resolved to do, in regard of your civility to me, upon all occasions, and emergencies whatsoever.  Isabel 
O brave Boy, thou shalt be our true Drudge, and Journy-Man Drawer still, let us Marry when you will, let them be persons of Quality, or by what Names or Titles soever Dignified, it shall be something to you, young Rogue enough.  Drawer. 
There are some hussing brave Gentlemen in the next Room, and they are fallen desperately in Love with you, as you were singing, and being upon the quest with me concerning you: I told them several whiskers as to your Fortunes, and that your Uncle Coleman had left you 10000 l. a piece, and that you were both Roman Catholics, (for as they went up stairs, I perceived them crossing themselves) and that you loved Acrostic Verses on your Names, etc. and now they are all in a Flame to kiss your white Hands.  Joanna. 
I do protest Drawer thou art a brave Fellow, come let me spit in thy Mouth, let them come and welcome, if we can cully them in for Husbands, we shall be Ladies indeed (if they should chance to prove persons of Quality) and by that time they have had us about three Months a piece, we shall have marked them with a Witness, and let them put their Horns in their Pockets, if they will be some of the contented ones.  Drawer. 
I understand you, and let me alone to manage them.  Gentlemen, 
I have had the happiness to be admitted to speak to those Ladies in particular, one by one, and I have given such a Character of you, that I have over-persuaded them to admit you into their Companies.  Hocus. 
Thou art an honest fellow indeed, we shall be good Customers to your Master's House, and likewise to yourself, if our Affairs do succeed according to our desired expectations; here accept of this small piece of broad Gold for my sake.  Drawer. 
Sir, I am resolved to be your most faithful Servant; to the utmost of my slender Ability; but Sir, you must not be admitted till the next time they come here, which will be to morrow in the Afternoon, about five of the Clock, and then they will come prepared for your Reception.  Pocus. 
If it cannot be otherwise, we must be contented: come Brother Hocus let us make haste now to the Wild-House to dispatch those Affairs wherein we have been entrusted by the Successor of St. Peter, and we will go through the Park, and peradventure we may see that person whom we have a Commission to lay fast asleep, and never to rise again until the general Resurrection.  Hocus. 
I do protest here he comes up the Pell-Mell, you have now a fair opportunity to do his business, if in case you have your Implements about you.  
How sternly Brother Pocus, doth he look?  
I'll never trap him with Saint Peter Hook.  
My Joints do tremble, and my Heart doth ache,  
My Soul within me doth most sadly quake;  
Heavens doubtless will protect this Sovereign Lord,  
Our Pence are good, the Fact's to be abhorred.  Pocus. 
Come let us burn our Papers and Commission,  
ne'er let the Wild-house see Saint Peter Mission.  Hocus. 
I le burn my Letters and Commission too,  
Wonder is all that we have now to do.  
Wonder of Wonders! Oh blessed Stars that we,  
Instead of Killing should both Married be:  
And that to persons both of High Degree.  
Whose Fortunes answer our accursed intents.  
To kill the King and blow up Parliaments:  
For which Attempt, (to bind us fast to th' Crime)  
Don Senior gave us some of his Birdlime,  
Which will not stick upon our Fingers now,  
In Wondrous times, and so Heavens speed our Plough.  Drawer. 
Ladies of Pleasure, your Gallants are come already, I will go and introduce them into your Chamber of Presence, but be sure Isabel and Joanna Vanharlof, you go by the same Names as I did represent you unto them, they are most huffing fine to day.  Isabel 
Prithee let us alone (Rogue enough) to manage the Intrigue as well as thyself.  Drawer. 
Gentlemen, I have prevailed with the Ladies for your admission, and I am to be Sir Oliver Fleming, alias The Master of the Ceremonies, to introduce you.  Hocus. 
Ladies your Servant, and we both do swear,  
It was your Voices that did bring us here.  Isabel. 
If that our Voices did your Honour's Charm,  
We do admit in KISSING there's no harm  
Now of our Hands, but pray presume no higher,  
Lest that blind Cupid sets your Hearts on Fire.  
For us true Virgins who are Lambs of hope,  
And do belong to Signior Don the Pope;  
And ne'er will Marry, unless he consent,  
To time, to persons this is our Intent.  Pocus. 
If that your Resolutions (Ladies) be,  
We well may sing, Come hay then up go we:  
For we are Agents from your Aged Sire,  
Who will give leave to quench that smoking Fire  
Which you have kindled, in our naked Breast,  
We speak in earnest, not one word in jest.  Isabel 
My Lords, you seem to be extremely civil,  
We are not able to resist that Devil,  
Which some call Love, our Hearts do burn likewise,  
We are your Captives, you shall be our Prize.  Hocus. 
Ladies, we thank you for your kind intent,  
Heavens bless your Honours, and now crown th' event.  Isabel. 
But withal we must acquaint your Lordships, that we have made a Resolution within ourselves, that no person or persons whatsoevet shall enjoy either of us, unless they first present us with some Acrostic Love-Verses on our Names, that shall be to our content and satisfaction, for we have had several of our humble Servants that have fumbled at it, but they were such hobbling stuff when presented, that we did burn them at the very first perusal.  Hocus. 
We shall endeavour to fulfil your Mind,  
Since you have hinted to us you'll be kind.  Pocus. 
May we crave your Names Ladies, that so we may be satisfied to what persons of Quality we stand obliged.  Joanna. 
The Drawer I presume hath informed you, as to that particular a heady.  Hocus. 
It is very certain Madam he did, but for our better satisfaction, we were willing to inquire at the Fountain Head.  Isabel. 
That Drawer, I will assure you, is and honest Fellow, and you may trust him with untold Gold, for we have had sufficient experience of his Fidelity and willingness to serve us both.  
But Mr. Hocus, I must tell you one thing more, and that is, I have been troubled of late, with a most pestilent Courtier, who swears by all the flesh on his Body, he will have me, whether I will or no, and though I am a Daughter of the Church of Rome (as I have already informed you) and will have no other but one of the same Tribe, yet he being a grand Tory, I had no other way to put him off, but by Equivocation, in telling him I was a grand Whig, and would Marry with no other; whereupon he replied, he would take up the Cudgels with any Whig in England, that was my Servant.  Hocus. 
And then, what issue did you come to, I beseech you Madam to inform me?  Isabel. 
We came to this issue, that I would bring a Whig, a Servant of mine, that should enter the Ring with him, and I pitched upon you for that end and purpose, so that you must now (Chameleon like) turn your Coat into a Sword, upon that account, if you have (as you do pretend) any real kindness or respect for me.  Hocus. 
Madam, To gain you I will surely turn  
My Coat and Cassock too, or else i'll burn  
My Books at last, before he shall prevail,  
I'll give him School-Play with my Jesuits flail,  Pocus. 
Madam, You know that we can turn our Coats,  
From Popish Treasons to good Doctor Oat.  
Who hath preserved the Royal Crown and State,  
For which our Church deserves a broken Pate.  
Heaven's doth Protect him from Saint Peter's Charms.  
And LONDON saves him with their Loyal Arms.  Hocus. 
Pray Madam, what is this huffing new pragmatick-Courtier's Name? It is a new fashion, which I have not yet heard of, to have Ladies without their own consent.  Isabel. 
His Name is Jocosus Pragmaticosus Furiosus (a tearing Gallant) and as I am informed, a person of a very considerable Estate and Fortune.  Hocus. 
A very huffing Name, I do protest, but let me alone with him, I'll huff him with a Vengeance.  
And if I find him bold and turbulent,  
And shall abuse our stately Government;  
That Triple League, which hath so firmly stood,  
From Age to Age, although a sweeping flood  
Hath sometimes rose, and covered all our Land  
For many years, yet now from Royal Hand  
We have it Signed, That no such floods shall more,  
Come near our Banks, to overflow our Shore.  
So if I find him in so great an Huff,  
Madam, for you, I'll change my Goat to Buff:  
I little Sprat, will turn a Swordfish strait.  
I'll comb his Coxcomb, teach him how to prate.  Isabel. 
Well Sir, I thank you, he will be here to morrow morning, that is the time prefixed, and therefore I pray come prepared, but withal remember our Acrostic Verses into the bargain; I gave him the same charge, (as to Our Names) to try his proficiency in that difficult subject, wherein many of our Gallants have been so miserably plunged.  Hocus. 
Verbum Sapienti, etc. We will take our leaves of you, Ladies, for the present, and not fail to meet you here again at the time limited.  Joanna. 
Drawer, call to our Coachman to be ready, and let our Lackqueys, also, come and attend our motion, for it gins to grow somewhat late.  Drawer. 
They are all at my Master's Door, expecting your coming down, and so Ladies and Gentlemen, your most humble and faithful Servant.  
Remember, Wonder, and remember Will,  
To serve you all, I'll try my utmost skill.    

Pars Secunda.  Enter Jocosus Pragmaticosus Furiosus. I. P. 
Madam, Your most humble Servant, I honour the ground, that bore the Grass, that fed the Ox, which had the Hide that made you Shoe-Soles.  Isabel. 
Bray (Mr. Jocus) do not run so fast,  
I have an Hocus will fit you at last:  
Look, here he comes, look well unto your hits,  
he'll sing your Goose-Cap in his frantic fits.  I. P. 
Oh this is your Champion Whig, you told me the other day, I should engage withal; come, I'll enter the Lists with him if he be come prepared.  Isabel. 
I do not question that in the least.  I. P. 
Come, Madam, I'll sing you a new Catch this morning, and observe your Whig, well to see if he be able to answer me ex Tempore, without scratching a long time his Paper Scull. I begin, viz.  
Your Langleys and your Viles,  
Your Janaways to boot,  
Shall march in Ranks and Files,  
To kiss fair Tiburns Foot.  Isabel. 
At him, my Hocus, without Hums or Haws,  
Come off but bravely, you shall gain the Cause.  I. P. 
Ah but Madam, who shall be Umpire (or Judge) in the Case? for it is not proper to be Judge yourself in your own Cause.  Isabel. 
No, there is no reason for that, and therefore let us pitch upon an indifferent person between us both.  I. P. 
What think you of Will the Drawer, a very honest Intelligent person, as I think will do us both Justice to an hairs breadth.  Isabel. 
With all my Heart (Mr. Jocus) let him be the Man.  Enter Jeronimy (my Friend Mr. Hocus) did you hear this new Catch this morning, which I believe may perchance catch you by the Nose (like strong Mustard) and will make you scratch where it doth not Itch. Hocus. 
I well remember both the one and tother,  
And at your Service I have such another.  
It is to the same Tune, though directly in opposition. viz.  
Your Towzer and your Tumblers,  
Which now make such a rout,  
Your Jack-a-dandy Fumblers,  
May first kiss her old Snout.  Isabel. 
Well bowled (brave Hocus) this will do the feat,  
And put your Jocus all into a Sweat.  I. P. 
I fear him not, although my blood doth rise,  
Lest that Tom Tell Truth's here, in a Disguise.  Isabel. 
I cannot tell, perhaps it may be he,  
He speaks so plainly of the Tripple-Tree.  
For you and others of the self same sort,  
Which may in time make Aged Tyburn sport.  Hocus. 
Madam, This Man is Jesto to that Hob,  
Who lurketh here, to do the old Pope's Job.  
And will you now look on this precious Tool,  
Who is no more than Towzers' Jesting Fool.  
I hope you wiser than to lead your Life  
With such a Man, who always maketh strife.  I. P. 
Are you Tom-Tell-Truth here in a Disguise?  Hocus. 
Are you the Man that tells so many Lies?  I. P. 
Tom-Fool, to answer one thing by another,  Hocus. 
The safest way to shame a Tory Brother.  I. P. 
I am no Whig, but true Son of the Church,  Hocus. 
The Church of Rome, and kin to Madam Birch.  I. P. 
And what are you, if I may be so bold,  
The Church of Whigland, that old Bawd and Scold?  
Or, which is worse, your Principles do come,  
From the Republic and Free State of Rome.  
In days of yore, who did so much Cajole,  
Their Neighbour Princes from their Capitol.  Hocus. 
We scorn your words. we like our Triple State,  
And for that shame, have at your Noddle Pate.  
I'll Comb your Coxcomb, and your Pudding Brain,  
To bring such slurs upon our Christian Name.  Isabel. 
Pray stop, Sir Hocus, let no Swords appear,  
Within Our Sight, to put us Both in fear  
Of Shedding Blood, which may us straightway bring  
Within the Verge, of our great Charles the King,  
I'll end the quarrel, put all out of Strife,  
The best ACROSTIC, I will be his Wife:  
Come Mr. Hocus have you brought them with you?  Hocus. 
Madam, I have, and hope that I shall find,  
That unto me, you will be ever kind.  Isabel. 
Are they Indeed your own? Did not some other,  
Either Tom Truth, or else Tom Tell-truths Brother,  
Help you to them, whereby you might prevail,  
To take us Virgins, by the Rump and Tail?  Hocus. 
Upon my Honour, Madam, they are Mine,  
I will assure you, every Word and Line.  Isabel. 
Pray Read them then, but with a comely Grace,  
And let Sir Jocus hear them Face to Face.  Hocus. 
To that Fair Lady, whom I so much Love,  
These Lines I send her, from my Stars above,  
Blind CUPID, he did aid my Trembling Quill,  
And pushed me forward with his Art and Skill;  
And what the product was, you here shall see,  
To try Jack Pudding, and his Poetry.  Isabel. 
Well done, Sir Hocus, this to me is Sweet,  
Lift up your Voice and do not fall asleep.  Hocus. 
My suit to You is bend, cause from your hand,  
It must have Sentence, or to fall or stand;  
Shall I then freedom take, for to impart,  
To you the secrets of my Lovesick Heart,  
Rarest of Beauties know, when first I took,  
Into my serious Thoughts, Your comely Look;  
Straight-way ful-fast the Winged Wantoness Dart,  
I found was stuck within my Wounded Heart,  
Since that (my Dearest Love) I could not find;  
Abroad no Joy, at home no quiet Mind,  
But still when as Thy Lovely Eyes I spied,  
Entered new Darts into my bleeding side,  
Lo now thou seest, to what my Mind is bend,  
Let me but one thing crave, I'll be content,  
Ah! speak (my Dear) my cruel pain and grief,  
Cannot be salved, unless thou send relief,  
Oh give Thine Heart, and for that gift of Thine,  
Lest thou shouldst want an Heart, I'll give Thee Mine:  
Eject me not, but (Madam) Grant my Suit;  
My Heart is true, and therefore stand not Mute,  
Advance (my Dear) let me now hear Thee say,  
No more Jack Puddings shall my heart  sway,  
So should I rest whilst Heaven me Breath to lend,  
Thy Faithful Servant and most Cordial Friend.  
Hocus Catholicus, etc.  Isabel. 
Sister, I Swear these Lines are rarely good,  
I can't deny him, for my very Blood  
Doth rise within me, for to go to Church,  
I'll ne'er forsake, nor leave him in the Lurch.  Joanna. 
Come, come, Sir. Pocus be quick and nimble, have you brought Yours with you, I am in very great haste?  
Yes,  Pocus. 
Madam, I have, and hope to be your Slave,  
And so will be, till I am laid in Grave.  Joanna. 
Advance your MUSE, and make no long delay,  
For I do long to have my Wedding Day;  
If they do please me to the very Life,  
You then shall say my Dear (my Dearest) Wife.  Pocus. 

Most virtuous Madam, and Celestial Joan,  
In all the World, like unto Thee there's none;  
So soon as thy most lovely Eyes I spied,  
Then Cupid struck his Darts within my side;  
Reason did prompt me, like a Friend most kind,  
In that sweet Face, there was a sober Mind,  
Sure lodged within, the Soul of such fair Looks;   

I'll Plot no more, but rather burn my Books;  
Open Thy Heart; be never Coy no more,  
AVertuous Bride, Transcends a Common-whore;  
Never distrust my sure and careful Hand;  
Never will I profusely spend Thy Land,  
Always I'll Love Thee, Run at Thy Command.   

Coleman that Saint, his very Name I Loved;  
Oh speak (my Dear) my Heart is truly moved;  
Let not my Suit, I pray return in Vain,  
Ever I'll serve Thee, not in th' least for Gain;  
My Thoughts were never, on false Riches bend,  
All I Request is only Thy Consent;  
Never refuse me, but my Death prevent.   I. P. 
These are two Jesuits, I know their looks,  
You see they both have got St. Peter's Hooks;  
No Whigs could make such Lines as these to Trap,  
And make fair Ladies, fall into their Lap:  
If you resolve still for a Whig to have,  
I'll show you one, who shall be your great Slave.  Isabel. 
It is very well Mr. Jocus, but have you brought Yours along with You, we hope to see most Incomparable Lines from You; for You now are to be Lieutenant to bring up the Rear, and as we do usually say, The deeper the sweeter, or  
The higher the Plum-tree, the sweeter the Plum,  
The richer the Cobbler, the blacker his Thumb.  I. P. 
Madam, I do protest, I will deal Ingeniously with You, I have been hobbling upon, but could not Hammer any thing to the purpose out of Your Name, but I have brought you in Lieu thereof a parcel of Verses, which I am very certain will please You a great deal better than these flattering and daubing Lines even now Read unto You; and if you please to let me Whisper a word in Your Ear, I will tell you a very great Secret.  Isabel. 
Your Suit is granted, and pray as to the Secret.  I. P. 
Madam, Since I saw You, I am turned a very great Whig, and it was not, I will assure You, to Gain You, or the Richest Person in the World, but only my Judgement and Conscience was prevailed upon, by the Substantial Arguments of sober Reason.  Isabel. 
I can hardly believe it, but only (viva voce) Your own person doth inform me thereof: But pray, what sort of Whig are you, as to your present Sentiments?  I. P. 
I am a John a Baptist Whig, and I think that is one of the highest form in the Christian Church, (if I am not very much mistaken) and I am confident, Madam, I shall now please You to the Life,  
And therefore of that Jesuit think no more,  
Better turn Bawd, or else a Common Whore,  
Then lead Your Life with such an idle Fop,  
Give me but leave, his Ears I'll straightway Lop;  
Or, if in Sweden, I would make no Bones,  
To be the Man should cut out both his Stones.  Isabel. 
Well but are these Verses you have brought Whigish ones, and are they of your own making?  I. P. 
I will not tell you a Lie in an Age (though I have told thousands when I was a Tory) they are not my own but they are of about twenty years standing (to the best of my remembrance) and perusing them since I last parted from You, they wrought so much upon me, even to a Conversion.  Isabel. 
Oh let us hear them by all means, but pray tell me where you had them?  I. P. 
I was lately at a Torys (or rather at a Tantivys) Study in high Holborn, who hath by him all sorts of Popish Prelatical Jesuitical, and a few Fanatical Books, and among those last named, which were put in a By-hole (as if intended for the last use of waste Paper) I found these Verses, which as soon as I had perused, I fairly put them up into my Pocket, ask no questions for Conscience sake; but however I do intent to tell him of it next time we meet at sam's Coffeehouse, which is hard by this Tavern, where we are now so pleasantly merry.  Isabel. 
For Customs, Books, I see none are so kind,  
To give his due to Caesar, or's Friend to mind,  
But keep them as a Prize, and ne'er repent,  
Though 'gainst our three States in full Parliament.  
But however I long to hear your Verses, let them be what they will, for I am fixed as to my own Persuasion, as to matters Spiritual, but as to things Temporal, I must submit myself to our triple and thrice Noble State.  Hocus. 
I understand you, but Mum for that, although you spoke a little too loud, and I overheard you.  I. P. 
Here Madam, Pray Read to yourself, and let none hear you.  Isabel. 
I cannot allow of that, they must be Read that all must hear, for you may remember William our Drawer here, was to be Umpire between you, and Mr. Hocus.  I. P. 
I beg your Pardon, but I did not think of that, being so much in Love with your proper Person.  Isabel. 
Or rather (Mr. Jocus) you should have replied good Wits have short Memories: But pray to the Point in Hand.  I. P. 
I am now just at the Point, and the Title of my Verses is as followeth, viz.    

The Ass' Complaint against Balaam, or, The Cry of the Country against Ignorant and Scandalous Ministers.  
To the Reverend Bishops,  
YE Mitred Members of the House of Peers,  
The King's Churchwardens, and Gods Overseers,  
Fathers in Christ; We your poor Children Cry,  
Oh give us Bread of Life, or else we Dye:  
For we are Burdened with our old Sir john's,  
When we ask Bread, they always give us Stones,  
And only Cant, a Homily or two,  
Which Daws and Magpies may be taught to do,  
Drunkards Canonical, unhallowed Bears;  
The name of God more oft in Oaths than Prayers,  
Into what Darkness will Our Church be hurled,  
If such as these be called, the Light o'th' World;  
These that have nought to prove themselves devout  
Save only this: That Cromwell turned them out,  
Mistake us not, we do not mean those Loyal,  
And Learned Souls, who in the fiery Trial,  
Suffered for King and Conscience sake, let such  
Have double Honour, we shall ne'er think much;  
But this our tender Conscience dis-approves,  
That Ravens should return as well as Doves,  
And Croak in Pulpits, once again to bring  
A second Judgement, on Our Church and King:  
Though England doth not fear another Loss,  
'Cause God hath Burned his Rods at Charing cross;  
Yet CLERGY Sins may call him to the Door,  
Even him, who whipped, and scourged them out before;  
Oh therefore ye that Read the Sacred Laws,  
Eject their Persons, and disown their Cause:  
God and the King, have both Condemned this Crew,  
Then let them not, be Patronised by you;  
'Tis not their Cassocks, nor their Surplices  
We Quarrel at, there is no harm in these;  
We own their Habit, but yet every Fool  
Cannot be called a Monk, that wears a Cowl;  
Were Grace and Learning wanting (by your leaves)  
We would not pin our Faith on your Lawn sleeves:  
'Tis Aaron's Breastplate, and those sacred Words  
Become a Churchman; Oh 'tis that my Lords,  
Which pious Baxter makes his Livery;  
Would all our Curates were but such as he:  
Pardon my Lords, we do not make this stir,  
To vindicate the Factious Presbyter;  
We hate his ways, and equally disown  
The Zealous Rebel, as the idle Drone:  
And beg as oft to be delivered from  
The Kirk of Scotland, as the See of Rome.  
We pray for Bishops too, that they may stand,  
To heal the mad Distractions in our Land.  
Then give us Priests Loyal and painful too,  
To give to Caesar and to us our Due:  
God save King Charles our Christian Faiths defender,  
And bring Religion to its ancient Splendour.  
Amen.  Hocus. 
Pax of this Tory, what is he now turned Whig,  
On purpose to draw in my pretty Pig?  
A Stab i'll give him, which shall cure his Itch,  
Save him from burning like to an old Witch.  Isabel. 
If that he be, 'tis of the better sort,  
Called Common Prayer Whigs, who do resort  
Unto their Parish Church; I like him well,  
I think those Verses are a charming spell,  
He is a Baptist Whig, that shining Light,  
Who was Praecursor to that Star so bright.  
Who brought the Wise Men from the East to see.  
The only Son of Sovereign Majesty.  Hocus. 
Madam, the whole that you have now to do  
Is to hear Will, what he will say to you.  Isabel. 
Pray Will remember both the Whig and Pie,  
Let not your Lips now give your Heart the Lye.  
Speak you the Naked Truth and shame the Devil,  
Give me the least, but not the greatest Evil.  
Of these two Gallants who have tried their skill  
To purchase Favour and our kind good will.  Drawer. 
As near as I can, I will the Truth Judge,  
And soon I will help you unto a true Drudge.  Gentlemen and Ladies, pray hearken to what I was entrusted withal. 
I have been serious and extremely civil  
Unto my Masters, who have got the Evil,  
Which they call Love, though some do call it vile,  
You may take both, or else take Cross or Pile.  
I do declare, that Hocus he hath got  
The weather-gage, of your Jack Pudding Plot.  
Then take your Bride, and let Jack-Pudding run  
For help again, to Towzers Elder Gun:  
And Pocus likewise, be you like Sylvester,  
Straightway to Bed, with this her only Sister,  
All things are ready fixed for each Bride,  
For you this Night to sleep here by their side.  Hocus. 
Will, I do thank you for your Justice done  
To me, your Servant and true rising Sun.  
Here take my promise, which I made before,  
And for your Bill, pray put it on the Score;  
I'll hast to Bed unto my own Dear Wife,  
Who is the joy and comfort of my Life.  Drawer. 
And are they gone? these Jesuits they have got,  
Instead of Riches, a true Pouder-Plot;  
They both will find, before the Night be spent,  
Enough to make them straightway keep a Lent.  
They both are Whores, and if Jack-Pudding sorrow,  
To cheer him up, I'll tell the truth to morrow.  
And may they all be whipped and stripped thus,  
Who come to kill with Rome's old Blunderbuz.  
A wonder strange! by these two Whores in Bed,  
Our Royal Charles doth now hold up his Head.  
When as they came with full intent to Kill,  
Their lust and heat did qualify their will;  
And when they went to rouse the Royal Deer,  
Their very Hearts and Joints did quake for fear.  
And may he live to over-top that state,  
Which to our Church hath such inveterate hate:  
And may his Tripple-Crown from hence advance,  
To bear a part with Monsieur King in France.  
In order to that dreadful day of Doom,  
Wherein shall flame, the bloody Church of Rome.   

DIALOGUS QVARTUS: Serious and Theological.  Tho. Tell-Truth. 
THIS Theams so large, we must refer you here,  
To Treat you all with our next Christmas Cheer.  
That Token sent us from the Powers above,  
To feed our Souls with Everlasting Love.  
Though in the mean our utmost we will try,  
To make you now a short Apology. Viz.  

AS to our last and this most serious part,  
Which is a secret and mysterious Art:  
A Subject Sacred, and of vast Extent,  
Which will concern both King and Parliament.  
At their next meeting for to think upon,  
If they'll Protect, our Church and Royal Throne  
From foreseen dangers, which do hover here,  
Like Blazing Comets in Our Hemisphere.  
And do portend, it's feared a Fatal Doom,  
To some great Dons, as well as unto Rome:  
We have forborn, until that we shall see,  
How Church and State to this first will agree:  
If it shall please: We fairly promise here,  
To Act that part before you next New-Year.  
We say, before you, in this very School,  
Or else say Tell-Truth is a very Fool:  
And speaks that here which he cannot perform,  
And so deserves a Rattle or an Horn  
For to be grafted on his Brainsick Head,  
By Towzers' Hand, in his new Bedlam Bed.  
But never feared, our Pen is in our hand,  
And do resolve to make bold Towzer stand;  
And give account from what place he doth come,  
Whether from Flanders, or direct from Rome;  
From whence such Vermin here do weekly spring,  
Like fiery Serpents with their Mortal sting.  
If he'll speak Truth and will now take our Test,  
And will forbear the Language of the Beast.  
In future Libels we will let him pass,  
If not we'll Score him for a very Ass.  
Or else with Goose Quills we will knock him down,  
And send him packing to some Country Clown.  
To fix him whistling in some hollow Tree,  
Like Screetching Bubo in the Night, to see  
How Whigs will Chant this (like the Birds in Spring).  
Towzer is foiled, and so God save the King:  
And Tories than may sing (oh hone) and say,  
The Loyal Whigs of him have got the day.  
That times a coming, long it will not be,  
Towzer remember Eighty two and three.  
We can't forbear, the Heavens they have combined,  
To Loyal Subjects they'll be ever kind:  
Join then with them, and done't propose an Union,  
Twixt our true Church, and the Pope's Communion;  
Who now must suffer for that trash and jeer,  
(Which on the Rock he doth so often rear)  
Called Hay and Stubble, which our Heavenly Sire,  
Will surely burn, when Rome is all on Fire:  
Remember how Jack-Pudding turned his Coat;  
And in a trice did sing another Note:  
When as he stole some Verses from your Study,  
Which you did deem, to be so thick and Muddy.  
Because they did bewail what here was done,  
As well in England as the Church of Rome.  
By those Dulmano's, and that special Fry,  
In drinking Healths do take such liberty:  
Strike while 'tis hot, for we are Sons of Thunder,  
Not of that Church, which keeps men's Souls-shil under.  
We are true Sons of the true Christian Church.  
And yours is false, and must be left j'thlurch.  
If you'll believe Gods pure and Sacred Word,  
And sell your Coat, for a true Gospel Sword.  
Like Doctor Small-Fish, who had the rare hap;  
To turn from Red-Nose to Red-Feather-Cap.  
If you'll join Issue, we may soon prevent  
Much pro and con, between next Parliament  
And our Supreme, who will rejoice to see,  
Drunkards discarded, sober Fans to be  
Firmly united to our Church and Head,  
Whom we do hope will burn the Pope's straw-Bed.  
This we expect, all in his own good time,  
Who's Truth itself, and is the most sublime.  
To him be Honour, Glory, Power, Praise,  
To whom belongs the Everlasting Bays;  
When Saints and Angels all shall sweetly sing;  
Eternal Anthems to their LORD and KING. Amen, etc.    

The Epilogue spoken by Mr. Tho. Telltruth the first Prolocutor.  
WHat now?  
Will nothing do in these distracted Times;  
To cure hot Brains, but HOCUS POCUS Lines?  
Won't GALEN do, nor yet no Cinque foil Grass,  
Nor Physic Herbs; But this our Cupping Glafs?  
Will not the Lion's Rampant one jot move,  
Within their Cells; But by such Charms of Love?  
Let's throw away our Books, Mind them no more,  
Which have so shamed us, in the days of Yore,  
But let us Mind our late new Bedlam Lad,  
Who cures all, though they be never so Mad.  
If this be true, Our Youth hath done their Job,  
In this his Bedlam HOCUS POCUS Bob;  
Sure Heaven hath sent him from the Stars above  
To know by Planets, what they most do Love;  
For as we say, And 'tis a Truth most sure,  
A desperate Case must have a desperate Cure:  
In this attempt, We like his Project well,  
Who knows his Art, but by his Charming Spell,  
He may in time, with his Industrious Pen  
Charm the Old Dragon, close within his Den,  
Let now his Guardian Angel him Protect,  
Should he dare Writ in such a Dialect,  
Then would begin that Jubilee of Years,  
To free us from Our Jealousies and Fears,  
As is foretold in Sacred Writ to come,  
For the Destruction of the Whore of Rome,  
So far as she with Antichrist doth hold  
Let her not Boast, this Truth it is foretold,  
If she's that Beast, that sits on seven Hills  
We may affirm, They need not make their Wills;  
There is a Caveat, late put in from France  
Which may perchance make the old Whore to Dance  
A sad Coranto, with her TORY Crew,  
Heavens grant to Scotland, That the News prove true,  
'Twill break their Measures, And their Meal-Tub Plots,  
And make Our TORIES die here of the Rots,  
Or broken Winds, by Galloping up Hills  
And taking of the Observators Pills:  
The Bullies now will melt in their own Grease  
Because they can't destroy Our Kingdom's Peace,  
Nat and his Varlets, these special Roman Elves,  
Will now like Bedlams even hang themselves.  
The Clergy-Guide, Our Friend hath here Outdone,  
By slight of Hand, He hath reversed his Gun,  
And by his Glass, hath got the Weather-Gage,  
Of topping Towzer and his Jack Pudding Page.  
Cavete, Popelings, of Monsieur Caveats Jumps,  
he'll cut your Legs off, make you go on Stump;  
Who knows, but he must now lead up the Dance,  
And we must follow after into France.  
That petit COMET, with its long brushing Tail,  
May prove at length, a raree new French flail,  
And should it light, upon Your whorey Head,  
The Whigs would say, You're sweetly brought to Bed.  
The Grand Superiors, though they seldom meet,  
Yet when they do, their Faces are not sweet:  
Time will produce their Dire effects upon  
The Scarlet Beast, and Whore of Babylon.  
This Gallant Monsieur, whom of late you Scorn,  
Now in his Rage, may pluck you by the Horn;  
When as you hear, He Abby-Lands Escheats,  
Into his Chec quer, then he'll Work rare Feats,  
And we may Trust him, and likewise declare,  
In words at length, He wants the Roman Chair  
As a dependant to his late Conquests,  
There's many a true Word often spoke in Jests;  
Be gar, Madam, Look well unto your Hits,  
It's now high time to Exercise your Wits,  
The French, the Dutch the English are a coming  
To Kiss your Toes, and find out all your Cunning,  
Wherewith you have bewitched them ever since  
The Dragon gave you power to be Prince  
Over all Potentates in th' Christian Church,  
And now Dear Heart, he'll leave you in the Lurch,  
And so we leave you to his last Farewell,  
Which many say, Will be in Flames of Hell,  
Unless Repentance intervene between,  
Those Fiery Flames which are so sharp and keen:  
Farewell likewise to all that do Infest,  
Our Royal State, and Churches with the Pest,  
The Plagues of Egypt were in nurnber Ten,  
(You that Writ Shorthand, take them with your (Pen;)  
The self same number is in this Our Isle,  
Presented here to us, in Rank and File,  
By Our good Master, in his sober Mind,  
Because to us, he will be ever kind,  
And in his Judgement, thought it very fit  
To give us Scenes to Exercise Our Wit,  
And if you have a Mind to tell their Number,  
Come Scenes draw forth, and part Yourselves asunder.  

1. Here's first two Jesuits all be smeared in Blood,  
Bringing in Popery, like a mighty Flood;  
2. There's Towzer next, with all his Elder Guns,  
His Paper Pellets, and his Penny Buns:  
3. Next is Jack Pudding with his Coxcomb Cap.  
The Observator leaning on his Lap,  
4. Th' Informing Tribe, there round about him sit,  
Telling him sham's, without all fear or wit.  
5. Here's Ridens next, that paltry Whigland Elf,  
Who may in time, for Madness hang himself,  
Although some say, The Triple Tret much longs  
To have a Taste of his Pindaric Songs.  
6. There is Ben. Tokey with his Ship of Lice,  
Entered for Whigland to fetch home more Mice.  
7. Here comes the Tories in their Frantic fits,  
Like Bedlams foaming, stark out of their Wits.  
8. This is bold Nat. who brings his Cross-Key Fetters,  
With all his Bullies of the Roman Letters,  
Who still doth Shame, with Forged Lies and Stories,  
Tapsters to please, and Hogan Mogan Tories.  
9 These are Satyrics, which so much do flutter,  
And soar a loft, for Honey to their Butter.   

And as Lieutenants to bring up the Rear,  
10. Here's Hudibrass, that frothy state ,  
Who for his Drolling Doggerel prittle prattle,  
He was at last presented with a Rattle,  
And on his Tomb, this Epitaph may be  
Fairly Inscribed for his Friends to see,   

VIZ.  
Here lies bold Hudibrass, that doggerel swagger,  
In Life a Tinker, and in Death a Beggar,  
The same may serve for Ridens and his Oade,  
Leave out but Tinker, and put in a Toad:  
And Poet Laureate, with his Satiric Gang,  
May likewise have their Tombs of the same twang;  
But since old Laureate is the Prince of all,  
we'll Writ his Tomb, in Letters Capital.   

VIZ.  
Here Lies old Laure at with his Rampant Rhimes,  
Who daubed so high, to please the present Times;  
But since he's Dead, Noll's Ghost doth haunt his Tomb,  
And so will do, until the day of Doom;  
The Reason's this, because this Huff did Paint  
Him, Dead, a Devil, but in Life a Saint.  
In fine,  
To make the Tories Grin, the Whigs to laugh,  
We will conclude with Towzers' Epitaph,   

VIZ.  
Hic jacet old Towzer with his Elder Guns,  
Who split them, all by ramming Paper Puns  
So hard into their Mouths, with strong Intents  
To guard the Pope, but blow up Parliaments;  
But now he's Dead, his name will die and rot,  
Unless remembered like the Powder-Plot.  
Our Priend hath here so mauled him Hippolito and Thigh,  
That some do think, he'll never make Reply,  
And if you like his Honest Goose-quill Blows,  
As well in Verse as keen Steeleto Prose,  
I ray thank him for't, and here we will now close,  
Gratias, Gratias, Gratias,  
And all clapped Hands with loud acclamations.   

BUt stay Our Lads, to you we will rehearse  
Before we part, an old right Roman Verse,  
Which may well serve, for to Conclude Our Play;  
Look here, 'tis Ovid, which we read to Day,   

In Nova fert animus, mutatas dicere formas, etc.   

And now like him, in Our Poetic Feud,  
If you will hear, to him we will Allude, viz,  
A Tiber Goose is turned into a Kite,  
A Ravens-croft is Rome's grand Proselyte,  
That's Turbulent, within his Maggot Pate  
Is turned Volpone, in Our Church and State:  
Brave Godfrey's Nat is turned into a Jail;  
Pindaric Ridens, a true Roman Flail;  
Ben. Tooke's Ship is turned into a Lighter;  
Jack Pudding he, is turned an old Sheep Biter,  
The Tory Mountain's turned into a Mouse,  
Towzer's great Flea, is turned into a Louse,  
And though he skipped before, yet now must crawl,  
And scratch his Noddle, at his own down-fall,  
For sending Ratio. to his Bedlam Cell,  
Where he hath foiled him, by that very spell,  
Wherein he thought to cure his Frantic Brains,  
Now Martin's Ludgate, pay him for his Feigns,  
Or else pay Ratio, with your Hearty Thanks,  
For these his Hocus, and new BEDLAM Pranks,  
Wherein he hath (the Whigs will say no doubt)  
In his new BEDLAM, found bold Towzer out,  
We often see a spark much like a Louse  
In Magnitude doth sometimes Burn a House.  
Towzer was he, who kindled first the spark,  
And now his House is Rend and Torn, and Dark,  
He was the Man, who first began to Prate,  
And for his Pains deserves a broken Pate,  
These Lines will Live, when his shall Die and Rotsie  
And be to him an everlasting Blot,  
We wish him well, and always we will pray,  
He may repent before his Judgement day,  
For all his Follies, where he doth expose  
True Loyal Subjects, to be Caesar's Foes,  
If this bened Madness, we have lost Our Reason;  
Some Men Writ Nonsense, and will have it Treason:  
These are the Bedlams, or we have no skill,  
And Ignoramus of Our Maker's Will,  
But yet we hope to see true Tories run,  
In a short time from Towzers Elder Gun;  
Who hath Bewitched them ever since his Tone  
Of Curse ye Meroz, and his Forty One.   
Scholars, Gratias, Gratias, Gratias, With loud acclamation. Saying,  

Vivat Rex, Vivat Rex, Vivat Rex,  
Currat Lex, currat Lex, etc.  
Laborat Grex, Laborat Grex, etc.  
Let Towzer Vex, Let Towzer Vex.   

Crescit sub Pondere Virtus  
ET  
Soli Deo Gloria. Amen.   

BUT stay a while the Tories first must come,  
And take the Test, and then we shall have done;  
Tories draw nigh, and take the Test once more,  
Have we spoke Truth (or Treason) as before?   Tories. 
Truth, Truth, Truth.  Tantivys. 
Treason, Treason, Treason.  
What ails these Tories and Tantivy Eives,  
Now at the last to contradict themselves?  
By which you plainly see with your own Eyes,  
Some Tories can speak Truth, though most tell Lies.  
The last are Towzers' Whelps, the first are those  
Who now have fairly bitten them by the Nose,  
Common-Prayer Whigs the first, the last are such  
Who neither stay at home, nor go to Church,  
But every Sunday having got the Spleen,  
They take the Air to Visit Doctor Green;  
But since you are so high, Tantivys Pray  
Tell us the Treason you have heard to Day.  Tantivys. 
In saying, That his Name shall Die and Rot  
Unless remembered like the Powder-Plot;  
If this be not, both flat and downright Treason,  
You may Conclude, That we have lost Our reason.  Telltruth, 
If you'll withdraw we'll put it to the Test,  
Of these great Peers, their Judgements are the best.  Tantivys. 
With all Our Hearts, provided that we may  
But be assured, we shall have fair Play;  
Don't question that, these Peers they art not those,  
Who are the Kingdoms, and the Church's Foes,  
We all do know, that these are truly Loyal,  
Experieuce teacheth, We have had the Trial.  Exeunt omnes & statirh Enter again. Tantivys, 
The Lords conclude that you have lost your Senses,  
By drinking hard, and sitting late with Wenches,  
And by Your Words which you affirm are Treason,  
They do Conclude, that you have lost Your reason;  
And out as much as that true Roman Elf,  
Who is to prove that Godfrey Hanged Himself:  
For which attempt, to Newgate he was sent  
Among his BULLIES, there to keep his Lent;  
And may you all, be sent to him in Season,  
To cure the Itch of this your Purblind Treason.  
Now Gentlemen and Ladies, you are all most hearty welcome.  
Gratias, Gratias, Gratias.  
And all clap Hands with loud Acclamations.  
FINIS.   

POSTSCRIPT.  
To the Tantivies, By T. T.  

AS our two Jesuits, from the Stars above,  
Were struck with Paleness, and dead drunk with Love.  
From Cupid's Engine, called his Charming Dart,  
With which he makes hot Loves often smart,  
By means whereof, Our Royal Charles his Life  
Was sasely guarded from ROME's enraged Knife,  
Which does appear like Lambs to vulgar sight,  
But inwardly are Ravening Wolves of Night.  
So now likewise: If Towzer he shall rage's  
And bark at us, in every weekly Page,  
To quench the Flames of our new Bedlam Play,  
Which if he can, than We must run away:  
And 'twould seem strange, That Joan's old Elder Gun  
Should make Tom Telltruth, at the last, to Run;  
We fear him not, Come let him do his worst,  
The more he barks, the more he will be cursed  
By God himself, who never shoots at Rovers,  
And will at length slay all right Roman Drovers,  
We have a Distich always holding true,  
Though not yet heeded by your cursed Crew,  
The Palmtree grows the more pressed down,  
And Crosses prove the Church's Crown.   

Repent in time, thank Tell-Truth for this hint,  
And do no more on him so look asquint.  
Which if you should, he'll pay you home, be sure,  
Now you have put his jealous Pen in Ure,  
By your old Hocus tricks, wherein you huff,  
And light them up, Just like a Candle Snuff,  
And so will end, or we have lost our Aim,  
And do deserve, an everlasting Blame  
Be put upon us, by such Fops as you,  
Who are the Tory and Tantivy Crew,  
But We're the honest and true loyal Blue.   
Vale.  
T. T.  
FINIS.