THE PILLORY: Or a DIALOGUE betwixt Roger L'Estrange and Nat. Thompson.  hodge. 
ALAS, poor not! dear Brother, how dost do?  
What, are the Judges turned fanatics too?  
Th' old-fashioned Wooden Ruff they've made thee try;  
And this is all thou gett'st by Loyalty.  
St. Jaques save's! if these damned Whiggish Laws  
Entrap the very tigers of the Cause,  
How shall poor Towzer now secure his Stones,  
Or gnaw his Contribution Marrow-bones?  Nat. 
Leave off your whining: Is it thus you pay  
The supererogation of the day?  
And is't for this my brazen Face defies  
As many Eggs as ere I vended Lies?  
Go call the Monster Heraclite, and then  
Your humble, kind, admiring Clergy-men,  
With your old Oaken Argument dispute,  
And knock 'em down, if they'l not contribute.  
Let none( on Excommunication) dodge  
With their Lord God, the great Almighty Hodge.  
Whoever sneaks to Hell, or bravely damns  
Let all their offerings bring to Bishop Sam's.  
Thus since for you h' has felt so many a Patt,  
Pray raise a Fund for meritorious Nat.  
If Priestly Word no more can Faith obtain,  
Let Cassock new-redeem'd, be pawned again.  
Nay, last dear Guiny too shall pack away,  
reserved in Pouch for Tavern, Wench, and Play.  
Delays are dangerous; act with speed, or I  
Can tell who had a finger in the Pie.  hodge. 
What, meaning me Sir? All my Guards advance!  
I see th' Apostate Dog is hired by Prance.  
If my own Mother should against me roar,  
Her Son would be the first to call her Whore.  
A Whig! a Whig! a Whig! 'twas his intent  
To affront, and undermine the Government.  
The Fundamental Laws he means to change,  
And be a greater Rogue than Master ' Strange.  
With such fat thumping Lies he lords a Tale,  
As even spoils my Observators Sale,  
And Saturday, if that would end the strife,  
Would swear, he ne're was Pillory'd in's life.  Nat. 
No common Villain such a feat can do:  
For that's a Task( almighty hodge) for you,  
Who laugh at all the toys of time and place,  
And damn yourself at Church with a good Grace.  
Smirk crys all's Gospel; yet advice I'd crave,  
If he's the greater Fool, or you the Knave?  
Your Ipse dixit does it: Ne're contend,  
L'Estrange, the Great has said it: There's an end.  hodge. 
Poor creeping Rascal, cope not then with me,  
So much above thy match in Roguery.  
Base third-rate Sinner, who canst nought device,  
But turns a Broker to the Faction's Lies:  
Who ne're canst take it till by all 'tis found,  
But catchest Slander at the third rebound.  
Behold a Monstrous, Wonder-working Knight,  
That hanged himself, then 'cause it took not right  
Swang'd into th' Fields, and stabbed himself for spite.  
Live errand Knights we've heard of o'er and o'er;  
But who e're knew dead errand Knights before?  Nat. 
And thou my Son! Nay, then my hope's in vain  
If Knaves fall out, true men their own will gain.  
For this( ungrateful Towzer) have I born  
Whole showers of Kennel dirt, and vulgar scorn.  
Was it for this I played the Fool, to be  
A Mark for the enraged mobile.  
To pocket up fat Dabbs, and greasy Blows,  
And spoil a serviceable Face and Nose;  
Basely do Pennance in the open Air,  
And thrust my gracious Snout through shriving Chair?  
For this was your poor Demy-Martyr tied,  
To sup such Cawdles as the Whigs provide,  
Whilst saucy Prentices salute his Chapps  
With Stones, and Carrots-●eads, and ●●●●●p-●ops▪  
Must my Cats-foot the fiery chestnut draw  
Out of the Coals, to save your Worships Paw?  
After all this, poor Nat. must be forsaken,  
So you, Curmudgeons can but save your Bacon.  
So an old envious Hag, when ought has crost her▪  
Learns to repeat the Devil's Pater-noster.  
And then, if Whiggish Neighbours she'd distress,  
To great Old-Nick presents her humble Address.  
For dear Revenge dire bloody Bonds she gives,  
To serve with Life and Fortune whilst she lives.  
Hell's Majesty his black Tribunal leaves,  
And with his wonted goodness her receives:  
Teaches her in light Egg-shells safe to Sail,  
And let's her sweetly kiss his Royal— Tail.  
But when the unbelieving Witch is shent  
At the Assizes( or the Parliament),  
The Boe-peep Fiend( a Rogue) plays least in sight,  
And coldly bids the Lady fair, goodnight.   

LONDON: Printed for J. Charles. 1682.