A DIALOGUE Betwixt TOM AND DICK The former a COƲNTRY-MAN, The other a CITIZEN, Presented to his EXCELLENCY and the COUNCIL of STATE, at DRAPERS-Hall in LONDON, March 28. 1660.
(To the Tune of
I'le never love thee more.)
Tom.
NOW would I give my life to see,
This wondrous Man of might.
Dick. Dost see that
Jolly Lad? That's he;
I'le warrant him he's
right.
There's a
true Trojan in his
Face:
Observe him o're and o're.
Dick.
Chorus.
Come Tom; If ever GEORGE be base,
Ne're trust good-fellow more.
He's none of that Phantastique Brood,
That murther,
while they pray:
That trusse,
and cheat
us, for our good;
(All, in a Godly way,)
He drinkes
no Bloud,
and they
no Sack
into their gutts
will poure.
Chorus.
But if GEORGE does not do the knack.
Ne're trust good-fellow more.
His quiet Conscience
needs no guard;
He's brave,
but full of pitty.
Tom.
Yet, by your leave, he knock'd so hard,
H'adlike t'awak'd the City.
Dick.
Foole,
'Twas the Rump
that let a Fart,
The Chaynes
and Gates
it tore.
Chorus.
But if GEORGE beares not a true heart,
Ne're trust Good-fellow more.
Tom.
Your
City-blades are
cunning Rookes;
How rarely you
collogue him?
But when your
Gates flew off the
Hookes,
You did as much
be-rogue him.
Dick.
Pug'h.—'Twas the Rump
did onely Feele,
The blowes
the City bore.
Chorus.
But if GEORGE be'nt as true as Steele,
Ne're trust Good-fellow more.
Dick.
Come, by this Hand,
we'll crack a quare,
Thou'll
pledge his health, I trow.
Tom.
Tope boy, Dick—A
lusty dish my heart,
Away w'ot; Tom.—
Let it go.
Drench me you slave in a
full Bowle,
I'll take't, an' twere a
score.
Dick.
Chorus.
Nay, if GEORGE be'nt a hearty Soule,
Ne're trust Good-fellow more.
Tom.
But heark you, Sirrah, we're to
loud,
He'll
hang us, by, and by.
Dick.
Me'thinks, he should be vengeance
proud?
No more then
thee, or
I.
Tom.
Why then I'le give him the best
Blade,
That ere the
Bilbo wore,
Dick.
Chorus.
If GEORGE prove not a Bonny Lad,
Ne're trust Good-fellow more.
Tom.
'Twas well he
came, we'd mawll'd the Tayle;
—We've all
throwne up our
Farmes.
And from the
Musket, to the
Flayle,
Put all our men in
Armes.
The
Girles had ta'ne the
Members down,
Ne're faw such things before.
Dick.
If GEORGE speak not the Town our owne,
Ne're trust Good-fellow more.
Dick.
But prethee, are the Folke so
mad?
Tom.
—So mad, say'st;—The're
undone,
There's not a
penny to be had;
And ev'ry Mothers Sonne
Must fight, if he intend to
eate,
Grow
valliant, now he is
poore.
Dick.
Chorus.
Come—yet if GEORGE don't do the feate,
Ne're trust Good-fellow more.
Tom.
—Why
Richard, 'tis a
Devilish thing,
We're not left worth a groate.
My
Doll, has
sold her
wedding-ring,
And
Su has
pawnd her
Coate.
The
Sniv'ling Rogues abus'd our
Squire,
And call'd our
Mistresse Whore.
Dick.
Chorus.
Yet—If GEORGE don't what we desire,
Ne're trust Good-fellow more.
Tom:
—By this good day; I did but speak;
They took my Py-ball'd Mare;
And put the Carri'on Wench to th' squeak:
(Things go against the Hair).
Our Prick-ear'd Cor'nell
looks as bigg
Still,
as he did before.
Ric.
Chorus.
And yet if GEORGE don't humme his Gigg,
Ne're trust Good-fellow more.
'Faith, Tom: our Case
is much at one;
We're broke
for want of Trade;
Our City's baffled,
and undone,
Betwixt the Rump,
and Blade.
We've emptied both our Veines
and Baggs,
Upon a Factious Score.
Chorus.
If GEORGE Compassion not our Raggs,
Ne're trust Good-fellow more
Tom.
But what doest think should be the
Cause,
Whence all these Mischiefs spring?
Ric.
Our damned breach of Oaths and Lawes;
Our Murther of the King.
We have bin Slaves
since CHARLES
his Reign,
We liv'd like Lords
before.
Chorus.
If GEORGE don't set all right again,
Ne're trust Good-fellow more.
Tom.
Our
Vicar—(And hee's one that knows)
Told me once,—I know what:—
(And yet the Thief is woundy
Close)
Ric.
'Tis all the better;
—That.
H'as too much Honesty
and Witt,
To let his Tongue runne o're:
Chorus.
If this prove not a lucky hitt,
Ne're trust Good-fellow more.
Shall's ask
him, what he means
to doe?
Tom.
—'Good faith, with all my heart;
Thou mak'st the
better Leg o'th' Two:
Take
thou the
better part.
I'le
follow, if thou't leade the
Van.
Ric.
Content;—I'll march before.
Chorus.
If GEORGE prove not a Gallant man,
Ne're trust Good-fellow more.
My Lord:—in us
the Nation craves
But what you're bound
to do.
Tom.
—We have liv'd Drudges:
Ric.
—And We Slaves;
Both.
We would not die
so too.
Chorus.
Restore us but our Lawes agen;
Th' unborn shall thee adore:
If GEORGE denies us his Amen;
Ne're trust Good-fellow more.