A NEW SONG: BEING A DIALOGUE BETWEEN A WHIGG and TORY.
Concerning the Election of Sheriffs.
TORY,
Come, let us all at last agree, Debate's a Cursed Fashion:
'Tis only base Disloyalty, Infects the King and Nation.
Whig.
HOw! What, in such a Case Unite?
'T would be a plain Repentance:
A Whig, can n'er turn Proselyte,
Before he hears his Sentence.
Tory.
Whence are you thus inspir'd with Zeal?
Sure 'tis the Devil's Motion;
Two Sheriffs n'er made a Common-weal,
That's but a Formal Notion.
Whig.
In troth, the depth you do not see,
Of all our Stir and Fury;
Our Guilty Crimes must n'er go Free,
But by a well-pick't Jury.
Tory.
If then it be self Preservation,
That you from Sheriffs claim,
Why may not We, and half the Nation,
Expect and seek the same!
Whig.
Alas! with us 'tis otherwise,
Though we don't draw our Swords;
We may be hang'd for being wise,
Or speaking dangerous Words.
Tory.
But now you see, by the Effect,
Since all is past and done,
That North and Rich are true Elect,
And have the Conquest won!
Whig.
Then needs must Tyburn have us all,
For which we were created;
For when You rise, We needs must fall,
And with our Noise be hated.
Tory.
Take heed then of the good Old Cause,
Be sure to rule your Tongue;
These honest Men must rule by the Laws,
Which ne'r will do you wrong.
Whig.
Tell me no more of wholsome Laws,
Which hold with Reason still;
By Factions I must get Applause,
And gratifie my Will.
Tory.
Come Whig, 'tis time to leave this way,
And change your bad Condition;
In all things now the King obey,
And not your own Ambition.
London, Printed for T. P. in the Year 1682.