THE WHIG and TORY's Friendly DIALOGUE, OR, Admonition to Unity, as the greatest help and inlet to peace and quietness.  
To the Tune of, hay Boys up go We.  Whigg. 
NOw now yond Tories pray give o'er,  
run not the poor whigs down,  
Although they cannot damn and whore  
yet they may love the Crown:  
And love in heart their Sovereign Charles,  
all Reasons will allow,  
As well as those, God's Laws oppose,  
and to an Altar bow.  Tory. 
Hold Whigg, you Tongue is too profuse,  
then do more inveigh,  
Against us that were ne'er his Foes,  
but for him still do pray:  
We'll venture Lives and Forunes too,  
his right for to maintain,  
Whilst you do strive, for to deprive,  
the Heir we would have Reign.  Whigg. 
'tis our design for to be free  
from dangers that do threaten,  
You know there was a time when we  
by no Men could be beaten:  
You think to get the upper hand,  
and then to make us bow,  
But 'tis believed, you are deceived,  
where's Tory Thompson now?  Tory. 
'Tis true, once Cromwell led your Van,  
you owned him as you head,  
And him you thought a famous Man,  
who did the King behead:  
For that a Curse upon this Land,  
I fear there doth remain,  
But blest be he, we hope to see,  
after great Charles to Reign.  Whigg. 
The Pope would England overcome,  
which I hope ne'er to see,  
If we should subject be to Rome,  
in what a case were we:  
How many Martyrs suffered Death,  
that did refuse to bow  
To Idols, therefore lost their breath,  
but where's Ned Coleman now?  Tory. 
Thou prattling Fellow, 'tis not that  
which we desire to have.  
Thou pratest of thou knowst not what,  
our party to outbrave:  
Though Monmouth is a Princely Man,  
yet we will tell you plain,  
We will deprive him if we can,  
that York in time may Reign.  Whigg. 
Bet in the interim of time,  
let Subjects all agree,  
It is a matter so srbline,  
it can't determined be:  
By Mortals, that in little time,  
to death must stoop and bow,  
Obey the King in every thing,  
and let's be friendly now.  Tory. 
Now thou dost like a Christian speak,  
none knows who first shall die,  
The strong may go before the weak,  
and in his cold Grave lie:  
The young before the old may drop,  
and fly from Death in vain,  
'Tis he our breaths must surely stop,  
let whom God pleases Reign.   

Printed for J. Deacon, at the Rainbow, near St. Andrews Church in Holborn, 1682.