A PRIVATE CONFERENCE BETWEEN Mr. L. Robinson, AND Mr. T. Scott, Occasioned upon the Publishing his MAJESTY'S LETTERS AND DECLARATION. LONDON. Printed for Isaac Golden at the Dolphin in Pauls-Church-Yard, 1660. A PRIVATE CONFERENCE. ROb. Pox, O this damned Fellow Lambert, we may thank him for all this; He must be quarrelling like a Knave, and we must be retorting again like a company of Fools as we were, as if we had done it on purpose to let honest men come by their own. Well, we have had many a true jest put upon us, but never were so paid with a true proverb before. Scot Storks come into England, quether! I'll be hanged if ever any Storks came hither: No, no: I see Commonwealth birds want live in our Climate. Rob. What a devil were we chosen into this House for. Scot To sit in it like two Owls for people to stare and point at us. There's Tom. Scot— cries one— Lord Chief peeper into the Rumps secrets; Who's that cries another? Luke Robinson the Barbarian, The Chrimme Tartar, whom Cerberus begat upon an Elders maid. Rob. And theyre so unanimous (I wonder where they learned it, I am sure not from us) that I profess I am amazed to see it, they hold together as if they had studied nothing but the 133 Psalm. I was forced to oppose a motion the other day myself, lest there should have been a nemine contradicente in the House. Scot God's life! But did you hear the man that cried give unto Caesar that which is Caesar's. Rob. I could have wished it had been left out of the Bible, for thought it be not much Significant, If rightly expounded, yet it does a great deal of mischief at the first sight. Scot Upon my credit, brother Robinson, they were very severe words: they were more painful to me than the pains of the Pox: And now, God help me I have felt both. Rob. There's no man would expound it as these men do: why suppose we are bid to give Caesar his due, we are ready to do it: but Caesar is not the King, neither is the King Caesar; when they can prove the King to be Caesar, then we'll give him his due. besides Caesar was an Emperor: now if we are bid to give the Emperor his due, we are not therefore bid to give the King his due. Scot Why did you not urge this in the House, Brother. Rob. Because I thought 'twas to no purpose. Scot 'Tis not the first thing that we have done to no purpose. Did not we visit Monk to no purpose? and break down the City gates to no purpose? and send all our Soldiers out of town to no purpose? and have not we been Common-wealthing it here these twelve years to no purpose? why then could not you speak two or three words to no purpose? Rob. I confess I have been good at Snarling and Wrangling and Contradicting, but now I know not what ails me? I think the times have almost doazed me. Did I think ever to have lived to have seen a King again, in England?— hum h— a King— very good— no, 'tis not so very good neither, now I think on't. Scot I profess I done't like it neither. Well Thom. Scot now bid all thy worldly honours adve, bid thy Secretary Ship farewell too; but part civilly however, tell 'em 'tis against thy will that thou partest from 'em, and if thou didst ever oblige any friends whilst thou wert in power, call 'em to mind, for I am afraid thou wilt want a great many. Rob. A Letter from his Majesty— Scot, yes I hear it, there's a dainty bit for a Rumper to chew upon— but the reception and submissive acknowledgement of it— those are two excellent ingredients to purge melancholy: suppose a man should now divide a Sixpence into three parts or a Groat into two parts, and bestow either the third parts of the Sixpence or the half of the Groat, would it not be bet●er than to linger out a man's days in scorn and contempt?— How? The Lion and the Unicorn?— How many times have I ordered 'em to be pulled down? And are they got up again? Yet I am sure my warrants were not wont to be sealed with Butter,— but 'tis all one whether Wax or Butter,— for I see now one will melt as well as the other.— Have we been sitting here this 12 years only to wake Lions couchant? Nay then farewell Frost. The Picture of the Devil with all his Claws, his long Tail, and his strange misshapen Countenance, looks like one of Perells Landscapes, compared to this dismal sight of the Lion and the Unicorn. Rob. Nay her's another apparition as bad as the other. Scot What's that for the Lords sake? Rob. Look here,— CHARLES R. Scot Heaven defend us! Lord how we wondered in former time to see an et Cetera. Pray God this be not the name of an Angel, for I am afraid I shall even die now I have seen it; Prithee Brother turn over the leaf, it makes my knees shake worse than Belshassars Mene Tekel Rob. But here's not only CHARLES, but CHARLES R. yes and this suffered too. Scot Men will suffer any thing in these days, did they not suffer me, and you, and Cromwell, and did not the King suffer? And therefore prithee suffer that R. to stand there; I had rather see it in the front of a book, then placed upon my forehead. God keep all Hyeroglyphicks from coming there. Rob. Here's another song to the same tune. Trusty and well beloved. But let that pass, for it concerns not us at all. Trusty quether; indeed we have been very Trusty, if the whole truth were known; And why wellbeloved? 'Tis a name that was never given us before: the very Preachers when they know we are at Church, leave out the word beloved, lest they should give us a wrong stile in the Crowd. Why should we give Caesar his due that won't give us our due? Scot How? Insupportable Calamities, by which the Nation was near exhausted? Now you see Mr. Robinson what 'tis for a man to speak out of ignorance; had this man been of our Gang, he would have known better than to have said so, for I'll swear my thought they were the bravest days I ever saw in my life; I never commanded more, and never had more money in my Pocket; Our very news-Monger could lose his 40 or 50 pieces in an afternoon; And I am sure these were no signs the Nation was quite exhausted. I fear we shall never see such times again. Rob. But will the King come in again in good earnest. Scot In good earnest I know no body to keep him out. Rob. where's Hazelrig that said he would roll to his Grave in blood, before the King should come in? Scot Hang him lying Bragadochio, he'll say more in an hour, than he'll perform in the length of a Troy Siege. Rob. Are not we then in a fine condition? Scot What do you mean by a fine condition Brother? Rob. I mean are we not in a delicate plight? Scot Fine and delicate d'ye call it? These are delicate words, but I fear they will not suit either with us, nor the condition we shortly shall be in. Rob. Why is there not an Act of oblivion promised? Scot Yes to all excepting such as the Parliament shall except. Rob. Why are not we Parliament men? we'll except ourselves I warrant ye. Scot If there were none of the Parliament but we two, we might make a shift, but what think you of that plaguy thing called the Major part, Rob. Nay if ye talk of the Major part once, I'll be of the Major part too: I'll go and recant. Scot How recant? Rob. Yes fore God I'll recant; I'll rather turn than burn, Martyrdom! hang it, 'tis obstinacy; 'tis true, I can be as obstinate as another, but not when my neck lies at stake. Scot I know not what to do, I am made a Murderer, and a Traitor, 'tis time for me to be packing. Rob. I have been deeply enough engaged against him too, but there was one Thief upon the Cross spared, because he asked forgiveness. Scot Would I could but get a good Chapman for my part of Lambeth house, and I'd e'en go travel in my old age. Rob. You may travel brother Scot, your Legs are both of a length, for my part I can't walk far, and there▪ I'll repent. I know full well what belongs to Sequestrations and Compositions, and therefore I'll not stand to the hazard of either. Scot You may do as you please, but for my part I am resolved to drive it off to the last, till I see what they intent to do. 'twould vex a man to the Soul to repent and whine, and then to be hanged afterwards. Poor Commonwealths-men, 'tis time for us to look to out buttocks, when they take down our breeches. What a sad destruction will here be of Harps and Crosser; The Gentlemen think they do us a great courtesy to take away our Crosses, but I had rather they would break my ●hins. But what say the People? Hang their new Heraldry cries one,— not so cries another, they are not fit to make signs of— Burn 'em cries another,— and then they rejoice;— This man quoth they, hath spoken like a Seer,— next Bonfires have at 'em,— and I believe within this fortnight we shall see no more sign of the States Arms, than of Nimrods' Pedigree. Must they be pulling down Crosses, because we were once in the humour of pulling 'em down?— Yes,— for we did it with a bind zeal, but they do it with a knowing zeal. But see the Seamen too, Fellows that hardly know what a King is, they are for his Majesty too. Rob. How can we expect otherwise but that they should love Monarchy, when every petty ship is a kind of Monarchy. Scot 'tis against the officers interest indeed: but why should not the Soldiers have their share too in the Government of the ship, as well as the Commanders; would to God we had ordered it so, when we were in Authority; I believe they would have found a hard task to make the Mastiffs let go their hold. What a pox do they travel for?— Not to see fashions you'll say— no, I believe not,— If they did they'd remember, how much more Seamen thrive in Commonwealths than in Monachies. Hang 'em— remember— they don't remember that we paid 'em, and that they served us— but they remember that they served us and we did not pay 'em— does that stick in your stomaches Gentlemen?— truly we are sorry for't, not for yours, but for our own sakes— as for our flags and pendents, they now must perish like chaff before the wind— would it not grieve a man to see the women of Wapping peticoted in the Commonwealth's jacks and Ancients— and to see the pride and glory of Respublica Angliae mantling a boatswaines Lechery. O Lawson, Lawson! once thou didst bravely for us; But our jason is gone, and woe is me for all my fellow Commonwealths— Argonauts, we never more must think to regain the golden fleece again. Well Brother, I can talk no more on't, God b'y; these things make me mad. ROBINSON'S RECANTATION IN THE HOUSE GEntlemen, I have been a great many years against the King, because I saw it was convenient to do so; And now because I find you are all for him, I am for him too: 'Tis ill striving my Masters against the stream, I'll ne'er do it while I live. Gentlemen, you know the common excuse,— I have been deluded a great while, but now my eye are open,— Pray Gentlemen let this serve,— I am very sorry for what I have done, because it has thrived so ill,— and therefore pray forgive me,— and the Lord forgive me, and so let us all forgive one another. A BONFIRE CAROLL. WHy does the pale Fanatic Grin To see our general Joy? Who thinks there is no use of Fire But only to Destroy. He longed to see the City Flame, And now has his desires; But now he see's the City Flame, Quoth he, Pox take your Fires. Come boy's more wood— there is no more, Then fetch a Harp and Cross; Nay, fetch us all those rotten boards; we'll burn 'em by the Gross. Great CHARLES the second is proclaimed Lord of his Native Right: The day's too little for our Joy, Which makes us Joy by Night. Behold a sight! The Earth itself Is now our Altar made; But where's the Sacrifice you'll say? Oh! that is quickly had. Bring hither the rebellious votes That beardless Tichborn framed; And Records of th'Infernal Act Of Bradshaw, who is damned; Bring what the bold Conspiracy Of Rumpers did impose, When they abolished Regal Power, In dread of Cromwell's Nose; Bring the cursed Hue and Cry, and him That dared to write it too, And bring that Vote which Commonwealthed us Into our deepest woe; Bring whatsoever the chief of Rebels Upon the Nation forced, To dispossess his Sovereign, For which his Sons are cursed; These should the Sacrifices be If we might have our will, And as for Priests ye shall not want To burn and burn 'em still. But now I think on't where's Sir Arthur As dry as Norway deal, 'Tis just he should be burnt, that first Did fire the Common-weal. Where's Thomas Scott, he's pretty dry too, As having lost his marrow; But lest our fire be out too soon, Bring Vane in a Wheel-Barrow: Bring Martin too, that beastly Slave, And bring his Leman hither, For as they lived like Ancient Gauls, we'd have 'em die together, Then boldly let 'em throw themselves Into these Funeral Piles, That all Rebellion may be buried While we dance Round the while; 'tis better so to die than live Still Ignominious: Perhaps they want a Precedent, There's Sardanapa us. FINIS.