A DIALOGUE BETWEEN A Papist and a Quaker.
QUAKER.
MY Friend well met, I wonder where thou'st been
What hast thou flow'n for fear thou shouldst
Sure thy Religion en't so good as out be seen
We fear no Magistrates, not higher Powers;
The Light within us now so brightly shine,
That now methinks thy Tapers much declines;
Yea, Yea, my friend it is without all doubt,
Our Light within, that puts your Tapers out!
I find my Friend, that you have nor a Lay Man,
That can compare with any yea and nay Man.
PAPIST.
Why do you tax me for forsaking those?
Who is they find me will my Corps dispose,
First to the Gallows, thence unto the Gates,
Where some of our Saints have had their Fates,
There to be plac'd unto the view of such,
Who if there were a thousand, would not grutch,
But laughing say, here is the Corps of those,
That would our King most willingly depose;
Forth from his Throne, and made it their Delight;
To Rob poor English Protestants of Right.
QUAKER.
Why dost thou think that we have no Design?
To make our power full as great as thine!
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What though we do hold forth the Pope is naught,
And that no Bulls nor Pardons can be bought,
Youll find our Faith will prove to be as good
As yours, who by the publick's understood;
Before those people Protestants we roar,
And do exclaim, and say the Pope's a Whore
Of
Babylon, yet you shall find,
That we are clearly of another mind.
PAPIST.
Well done my Friend, it is great Pollicy
To cloak such choise Designs by secresy;
You by pretended Zeal have such a wile,
That may poor simple Protestants beguile.
They take you though you'r Wolves, to be but Sheep,
And think by such they may securely sleep;
Not thinking such poor Innocents can be,
Such plotting, Firing, Blood suckers as we.
When if they should but search, I fear they'd find,
That ye are Wolves, for murdering Sheep design'd.
QUAKER.
I pray thee Friend, now do but mind the Light
Which is within us, and doth shine so bright;
It doth put out the Light of others Eyes,
That they poor Souls, cant see their Enemies.
They are deluded by our yea and nay,
And think we always mean as we do lay;
But they will find unto their Detriment,
That we to ruine them are fully bent,
And only cloak our great Designs by wiles,
As Crafty Faulconers harmless bird, beguiles.
PAPIST.
I find my Brother, you as Guilty are,
Of that which Protestants pretends a Snare;
Laid by us only, whom I must confess,
Were the contrivers of this wickedness;
Whilst ye assist us with this fine pretence,
That ye are mirrours of all innocence,
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Which they believe, whil'st ye do lye perdue,
Upon the Scout to hear what Plot is new;
Which when ye secretly do understand,
You will not fail to lend your helping hand.
QUAKER.
My Friend I tell thee for thy future good,
I wonder much thou hast not understood,
With what obscurity we do design,
The simple Protestants to undermine;
Surely my Friend thou hast not quite forgot,
How formerly we mannaged a Plot,
We by pretended Innocense did cause,
The overthrow both of our King and Laws.
Yet still we are thought to be innocents,
Only we are condemn'd for Male-contents.
PAPIST.
If thus ye have by innocent disguise,
Made King and Kingdome, Laws and all a Prize;
Or your Assistance we may make no doubt,
For Treachery once harbour'd ne're will out,
And if of subtle Plotters we grow scant,
Wee'l search amongst ye to supply our want,
But if we should do so a pox upon't,
The Pope will say 'tis Quakers that have don't;
Then all our Works by him will be despis'd
And we for Saints shall ne're be Cannoniz'd.
QUAKER.
Fear not my Friend, we'l Rob thee of thy due,
But let us weigh what we intend to do;
My Conscience checks me with a thousand stings,
And says 'tis hainous for to murder Kings.
Me thinks I hear the Bloud for Vengence cry,
Of
Charles the first, who innocent did dye.
And shall we then embrew our hand again,
In Royal Bloud, nay let King
Charles remain
To be our Guide, let him the Scepter sway,
And as he is Supream, let us obey.
PAPIST.
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If once you talk of Conscience I have done.
For our Religion will allow of none;
The Pope allows of it, and says 'tis just;
We may contrive to please our carnal Lust;
And for Revenge we murder may commit,
And vve do justly, vvhen vve practise it,
Our Doctor says a Dose of Royal Bloud,
Against Distempers is exceeding good;
Shall vve despise it then for this pretence,
We are afraid of checks of Conscience.
QUAKER.
Thou vile pretender to the Christian-Faith,
Mind vvhat the Spirit novv vvithin me saith;
It tells thee thus, thou may'st-not hurt the King,
Unless thou vvilt thy Soul to Ruine bring.
Then offer not that Royal blood to touch,
One drop of vvhich, vvill stain thy Soul so much.
Think not of the allovvance of the Pope,
For vvhich the Lavvs vvill noose thee in
[...] Rope;
But rather think hovv thou thy mind may'st bring,
To love and honour
Charles our Gracious King.
PAPIST.
What fond delusions vvorks vvithin thy Pate,
Wilt thou to us novv prove a Reprobate,
I thought you had been faithful in your vvays,
But you delude us vvith your yeas and nays;
Ne're more il'e trust a Quaker for thy sake,
Thou to assist us once didst undertake.
But novv our Plot is Rotten at the Root,
You cry your Conscience vvould not let you do't,
Hence Quaker hence, I have no more to lay.
But this, I'le cautious be of Yea and Nay.
FINIS.
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