WHY how now William? Why so cursed sneakingly this morning? Methinks I see the very same silly looks in thy countenance, as the Russianly Irish Squire made thee put on, when he found thee a bed with his Mistress at Cork; who, as they say, by threatning thee with a sound Drubbing, so far extin­guisht the Flames within, that thou couldst not forbear Quaking ever since.

Humh! Quaking. Truly Brother P—rs I say unto thee, that were but thy Actions as harmless as thy Wit, I am almost perswaded I should not have found thee in this stinking condition. And I say further, that hadst thou but half so much Light within thee, as that Son of Belial left in me, thou mightst have imbib'd a considerable muchness of Educa­tion, from the example of my prudence in the time of my Tribulation.

As how I prethee.

I verily when I foresaw the Timber ready to fall upon my Shoulders, thought it a burden too heavy for me to bear, and wisely withdrew from under the impending storm: And tho my Bowels con­tinually earn'd after the Lady (so called) yet I mortify'd the fleshly lusts of this wicked World, and consin'd the Out-goings of the inward Man to the secret Congregations of the Saints; and whenever I find a necessity of obeying the motions of the Spirit, am content to pour out my self upon the Sisters only. Now if—

Nay but William, I must here take leave to interrupt thee, and tell thee, in thine own language, that thou liest, and the truth is not in thee: For altho thou settest up thy self as an Arbitrary Tyrant over the Bodies of the She-Saints, insomuch that the Fathers of our Society, as well as those of other Orders, do as it were with one voice complain of thee William P—n; that tho they herd amongst your Assemblies more now than ever they did, yet are they disturb'd in the comfortable enjoyment of their Help-meets by thee the said W. P. who dost Traite­rously and Maliciously debauch the Holy Sisters from the Duty and Allegiance which they owe unto their Spiritual Fathers, and engrossest them to thy self. Thus Father P. lost his precious Rebecca, thus was [Page 2]Father S. deserted by the devout Priscilla. Nay, they say thou hadst form'd a design of carrying them all away into Captivity to thy Sylva­nia, and shutting them in a Mussulmannick Nunnery, called a Seraglio, erected for thine own use and pleasure; and for this very reason, say they, thou didst in thy Declaration there set forth, give Liberty of Consci­ence to Jews and Mahometans. Yet notwithstanding all this, thou dost still run a whoring after thine old inventions, to the great scandal of the wicked, and greater anguish of mind to those deluded Sisters. Witness the young Gentlewoman whom thou didst lately cause to squeak in the Coach, out of which she was forc'd to leap, and run two miles almost up to the knees in dirt, for fear lest thou shouldst have forc'd her further to cry out. Well, but to the purpose again. I'd fain know of thee how I might have been edify'd by the example of thy former debaucheries.

Why then to deal plainly with thee, know that when thou wast last shopt up in Newgate, under the clutches of thy old Friend Titus Oates, I take thy condition to be very near akin to mine, when I was faln into the hands of my Merciless Irish Persecutor. Now after so nar­row an escape, hadst thou but valued thy Neck half so much as I did my Shoulders, or been so terrify'd with a Halter as I was with the Basti­nado, thou wou'dst not have run thy Head into the same Noose, by act­ing over again the works of Darkness of the Babylonish Whore, but wou'dst abominate them, as I did those of my Carnal Mistress.

I thought thou hadst known us better, than to forbid a Jesuit to Plot or act Treason where ever he comes. But since we are so well ac­quainted in other things, prethee leave off thy Cant for a while, and give me the best counsel thou canst how I shall behave my self in this Juncture of Affairs.

Well Father, since we are alone, I shall lay aside the person of a Quaker for the present. To deal therefore fairly with you, and like a Friend, is to advise you to rank the Author of Killing no Murther amongst your best and soundest Casuists; and follow that wholsome Counsel which he gives to Oliver Cromwell.

That is, you'll tell me, to one hang my self out of the way.

Faith you are in the right on't. For I do assure you, there is not one Argument in the whole Book which might not be much better apply'd to your Reverence; besides, a thousand more that could be al­ledg'd, had I but the time to tell you, or you the Philosophical patience to hear.

For satisfaction sake in a matter of this moment, pray let's have the heads of some of them.

In the first place, all that can be said for the preservation of His Majesties Interest and Dignity, directly perswades you to what I now advance. For as nothing can be more serviceable to him, especi­ally at this time, than the united Affections of his People, so nothing can be more effectual to re-enkindle their Zeal for his Person and Ho­nour, than the removal of him who is the only occasion as well of their present discontents, as the Confusion they like to be in. Secondly, All the fine things that can be said for the good of your Country, Center here too; for what can be more beneficial to it, whilst there is such a Storm a gathering, than by your suspension to deprive its Enemies of their chiefest pretence to disturb the publick repose. Nay, and lastly, If you would but once perform this Heroical Action, the very Fathers of the Society will bear a part in the publick Jubilee; for let your life be never so long, no service you cou'd do them will ever be able to out-ballance their Joy, when they shall be in Possession of all those Guineas which you receiv'd the other day from Duncomb.

Notwithstanding my condition, I cannot but smile to see thee make such a serious Fool of thy Self; for I can't imagine thee to be so great Ass as to believe that I ever consulted the Interest of King or the People, nor of the Society it self, any more than it consisted with mine. Prithee therefore letting all those alone, which are at present the least of my thoughts, give me the best advice thou canst concerning my own Dearest Self.

Why if I hold my self up there, I must still continue to exhort you to imitate your Predecessor Achitophel, in the best Action he ever did in his Life, and set all things in order and so proceed. For had not you better peaceably go out of the World in a String of your own tying, than live to see the Brave and Generous Church-of-England-men (for such ev'n we must confess them to be) to continue in their unshaken Loyalty to their Prince, and venture their Lives and Fortunes against his Enemies, let their pretences be what they will; and consequently all your Villainous Insinuations expos'd to the just Indignation of His Majesty; Your Per­son to the fury of the People, as your Name-sakes had lately like to have been, and after all to fall into the hands of an unmannerly Execu­tioner.

Well, but I have not behav'd my self so yet, but that I have some Friends remaining still: What think you of the Dissenters?

As for the main Body of them, you have been long ago suffici­ently acquainted with their Sentiments concerning you. And then for our Pensioners, you may easily imagine how far you may trust them, [Page 4]since the Pious Mr. Alsop, the Discreet Mr. Lobb, the Zealous Mr. Vin­cent, instead of railing against the Church of England, according to their Duty, have tackt about already, and are bellowing full-mouth'd against the Abominations of the Scarlet Whore.

How do you find the Quakers stand affected? I hope you have at least procur'd me some Friends among them.

I must confess my small endeavours han't been wanting, but that damn'd Simile of my Brother Meads Fish-Pond, does so stick in their Stomachs, that if they should but see one of your Character, they'd presently believe they should be devour'd as fast as the Devil in the Picture swallows down Jesuits, when he shits whole Armies of Soldiers. Besides, instead of a Pike, they take you for a more devour­ing Otter.

Well then, my last refuge must be to the Church-of-England-Men, some of them have been my Tools already, and why mayn't I Cajole them so as to make them serve again? Tho' the Rascals—

Sir, Your most humble, and most obliged Servant; Sir, I heartily kiss your hand.

Verily, John, I say unto thee, that I rejoyce greatly to see thee in this place.

Have you any Service to command me with His Majesty? Would you accept of a Place? A Mandate? Or a Commission? Pray, Sir, make use of me.

O what an inward Joy and Consolation wou'd it be unto me, were I but able to find out a way to assist so good a man as thou art.

A Pox take ye for a couple of Driveling Rogues: Know that I am just now come from waiting upon His Majesty, who has been Gra­ciously pleas'd to admit me to his Hand, and given me a Commission, not sullied by the Sollicitation of such Villainous Sycophants as your selves; which I am resolv'd to execute in his Service to the last drop of my blood. And let me tell you, That as your impudent Impostures, by which, for a time, you depriv'd me of my Princes Favour, the greatest blessing any true-Born Englishman can enjoy, cou'd not shake my Loyalty; so shan't all your cringeing hinder me from endeavouring to discover to my Royal Master, the Villains that have brought the Nation to this Con­fusion.

Damn him for an unmannerly Rascal. But How now Father, What's the matter with you, you look as if you were disturb'd?

I must retire to consider about the advice you have giv'n me.