A Dialogue between Bowman the TORY, AND PRANCE the Runagado. A New SONG.
[...]
Bowman.
COme murthering Miles, where's your Sedan?
Or where's the Man you had it from?
Which you carryed Godfrey in,
with Ropes about your Necks Boys?
Nay, where is Mr. Howse's Horse,
Which had been Sold at Penticost,
On which thou swore the Corps rid Post,
above two years before Boys?
Prance.
By all the Gods that I adore,
Mahomet, and what e're I Swore,
I never saw since, nor before,
that Godfrey which was Murther'd:
For Moneys I did Swear and Lye,
To give the PLOT a deeper Dye,
Old Tory promis'd to stand by,
and see our Matters order'd.
Bowman.
That Water-Witch it was his Spell,
That Froze up Styx, the way to Hell,
The Thames, the Seas, and every Cell,
just to the Gates of Pluto:
The Hellespont was Frozen o're,
To both the Axills, Sea, and Shore,
That the world might ne'r have motion more
to save the Whiggs as you do.
Bowman.
Your Hambden now is Guilty found,
'Twill cost him Forty Thousand Pound,
Pox! Money's but an empty Sound,
when Knaves deserves to swing Prance,
Had Forty pound been offered there,
To all that would come in and Swear,
He would have faln to Ketches share,
to teach him Tyburn-string Dance.
Prance.
Sounds the Lords out of the Tower,
In spight of all our Perjur'd Power,
Damn'd Oats and I are scarce secure,
all our Intreagues do Falter:
Out of the Tower without an Oats,
To give Advice, or Rump of Votes,
'Zblood, we must cut our own Throats,
to keep out of the Halter.
Prance.
Nay, that which plagues me worst of all,
They kickt me out of Gold-Smiths-Hall,
And swear that I disgrace them all,
one Cursed Tory Scratcht me;
In every place where e're I come▪
Like Sheep from Woolfs from me Folks run,
Three times a day I am Drunk alone,
for fear Old Nick should fetch me.
Bowman.
Well Prance, now look but five years back,
How many Necks thy Tongue made Crack,
It's time for thine to go to wrack,
for Perjury and Treason:
Since thou abhorr'st both Cross and Mass,
Thou may'st pull down thy Sign o'th Cross,
And Hang thy self at the same Post,
it is but Right and Reason.
Prance.
I'le first see Rutland, Kenge and Thee,
Hang'd up for Tory Loyalty,
I'de be both Hang'd and Damn'd to see,
with Towzer in the Number,
After I would not live to Dine,
But down-right Drunk with Brandy Wine,
Straight into th' Sea with Herd of Swine,
for Circumstance I am under.