A DIALOGUE Betwixt TOM AND DICK The former a countryman, The other a CITIZEN, Presented to his EXCELLENCY and the COUNCIL of STATE, at DRAPERS-Hall in LONDON, March 28. 1660.  
(To the Tune of I'll never love thee more.)  Tom. 
NOW would I give my life to see,  
This wondrous Man of might.  
Dick. Dost see that Jolly Lad? That's he;  
I'll warrant him he's right.  
There's a true Trojan in his Face:  
Observe him o'er and o'er.  Dick. 

Chorus.  
Come Tom; If ever GEORGE be base,  
Ne'er trust goodfellow more.   
He's none of that fantastic Brood,  
That murder, while they pray:  
That truss, and cheat us, for our good;  
(All, in a Godly way,)  
He drinks no blood, and they no Sack  
into their guts will pour.  

Chorus.  
But if GEORGE does not do the knack.  
Ne'er trust goodfellow more.   
His quiet Conscience needs no guard;  
He's brave, but full of pity.  Tom. 
Yet, by your leave, he knocked so hard,  
H'adlike t'awaked the City.  Dick. 
Fool, 'Twas the Rump that let a Fart,  
The chains and Gates it tore.  

Chorus.  
But if GEORGE bears not a true heart,  
Ne'er trust Goodfellow more.   Tom. 
Your City-blades are cunning rooks;  
How rarely you collogue him?  
But when your Gates flew off the hooks,  
You did as much berogue him.  Dick. 
Pug'h.— 'Twas the Rump did only feel,  
The blows the City bore.  

Chorus.  
But if GEORGE be'nt as true as steel,  
Ne'er trust Goodfellow more.   Dick. 
Come, by this Hand, we'll crack a quare,  
Thou'lt pledge his health, I trow.  Tom. 
Tope boy, Dick— A lusty dish my heart,  
Away wilt; Tom.— Let it go.  
Drench me you slave in a full bowl,  
I'll take't, and 'twere a score.  Dick. 

Chorus.  
Nay, if GEORGE be'nt a hearty soul,  
Ne'er trust Goodfellow more.   Tom. 
But hark you, Sirrah, we're to loud,  
He'll hang us, by, and by.  Dick. 
Me'thinks, he should be vengeance proud?  
No more than thee, or I.  Tom. 
Why then I'll give him the best Blade,  
That ere the Bilbo wore,  Dick. 

Chorus.  
If GEORGE prove not a Bonny Lad,  
Ne'er trust Goodfellow more.   Tom. 
'Twas well he came, we'd mawlled the tail;  
— We've all thrown up our farms.  
And from the Musket, to the flail,  
Put all our men in arms.  
The girls had ta'en the Members down,  
Ne'er saw such things before.  Dick. 
If GEORGE speak not the Town our own,  
Ne'er trust Goodfellow more.  Dick. 
But prithee, are the folk so mad?  Tom. 
— So mad, sayst;— they're undone,  
There's not a penny to be had;  
And every mother's son  
Must fight, if he intend to eat,  
Grow valiant, now he is poor.  Dick. 

Chorus.  
Come— yet if GEORGE don't do the feat,  
Ne'er trust Goodfellow more.   Tom. 
— Why Richard, 'tis a Devilish thing,  
We're not left worth a groat.  
My Doll, has sold her wedding-ring,  
And sum has pawned her coat.  
The sniu'ling Rogues abused our Squire,  
And called our Mistress Whore.  Dick. 

Chorus.  
Yet— If GEORGE don't what we desire,  
Ne'er trust Goodfellow more.   Tom: 
— By this good day; I did but speak;  
They took my py-balled Mare;  
And put the Carri'on Wench to th' squeak:  
(Things go against the Hair).  
Our prick-eared Cor'nell looks as big  
Still, as he did before.  Ric. 

Chorus.  
And yet if GEORGE don't hum his gig,  
Ne'er trust Goodfellow more.   
in-faith, Tom: our Case is much at one;  
We're broke for want of Trade;  
Our City's baffled, and undone,  
Betwixt the Rump, and Blade.  
We've emptied both our veins and bags,  
Upon a Factious Score.  

Chorus.  
If GEORGE Compassion not our rags,  
Ne'er trust Goodfellow more   Tom. 
But what dost think should be the Cause,  
Whence all these Mischiefs spring?  Ric. 
Our damned breach of Oaths and laws;  
Our murder of the King.  
We have been Slaves since CHARLES his Reign,  
We lived like Lords before.  

Chorus.  
If GEORGE don't set all right again,  
Ne'er trust Goodfellow more.   Tom. 
Our Vicar— (And he's one that knows)  
Told me once,— I know what:—  
(And yet the Thief is woundy Close)  Ric. 
'Tis all the better; — That.  
H'as too much Honesty and wit,  
To let his Tongue run o'er:  

Chorus.  
If this prove not a lucky hit,  
Ne'er trust Goodfellow more.   
Shall's ask him, what he means to do?  Tom. 
— ' Good faith, with all my heart;  
Thou mak'st the better Leg o'th' Two:  
Take thou the better part.  
I'll follow, if thou'lt lead the Van.  Ric. 
Content;— I'll march before.  

Chorus.  
If GEORGE prove not a Gallant man,  
Ne'er trust Goodfellow more.   
My Lord:— in us the Nation craves  
But what you're bound to do.  Tom. 
— We have lived Drudges:  Ric. 
— And We Slaves;  Both. 
We would not die so too.  

Chorus.  
Restore us but our laws again;  
Th' unborn shall thee adore:  
If GEORGE denies us his Amen;  
Ne'er trust Goodfellow more.