Clod-pate's ghost, or, A dialogue between Justice Clod-Pate and his [quondam] clerk honest Tom Ticklefoot wherein is faithfullly related all the news from purgatory, about Ireland, Langhorn, &c / the author, T.T.

CLOD-PATE's Ghost: OR A DIALOGUE Between Justice CLOD-PATE, and his [quondam] Clerk Honest TOM TICKLEFOOT; WHEREIN Is Faithfully Related all the News from Purgatory, about Ire∣land, Langhorn, &c.

The Author, T. T.

Courants, Diurnals, will not do't; Gazetts no News can tell; Then Hey! for Brave Tom Ticklefoot! Who brings us News from Hell! L. Epigr. Lib. 3. Ep. 5.

Ticklef.

WHat a Rumbling, lumbring Noise do you make there? Cannot an Honest man sleep for you? would I could find the Bed-staff.

Clod-p.

Would you were hang'd, you Rascal! Cannot you put your Chairs and Stools in better order when you go to Kennel? I have broke my Shins most la∣mentably.

Ticklef.

I would you had broke your Neck for me, whoever you are; I'me sure you have broke my Sleep, and I value an inch of my own Sleep before three Inches of your Neck; besides you ha' spoil'd as hopeful a Dream as ever I had since I un∣derstood the Art of sound Snoring: But who are you with a Rope to you? and what make you here?

Clod-p.

How now Tom! what, do'st not know thy old Master? you and I ha' been better acquainted when time was.

Ticklef.

My old Master Clod-pate! Be∣shrew your Heart, you put me in a cold, clammy, muck Sweat: I'me all of a Lather; I alwayes hated Converse with the Folkes of the Invisible World, ever since I could write Ticklefoot. But what Wind hath blown you hither? I thought we had been cock sure of you.

Clod-p.

I'le do thee no harm Tom, upon my honest word; but I vow I ha' broke my shins filthily in the dark.

Ticklef.

Why, could you not see your way by the Light of your Nose? I'me sure it used to out-shine a Beacon, or, at least, a Flam-Boy.

Clod-p.

Ay Tom! But I am now a Ghost in Quirpo, and have left my Nose behind me.

Ticklef.

why did you not leave your Shins behind you too?

Clod-p.

Oh Tom! there's a Mystery in that: how should I walk without my Legs? And how should I bring my Legs without my shins? But I see every Convenience has an Inconvenience; either I must leave my shins behind me, or be a lame Cripple; or my Nose, and so be your poor Blind-man Sir: but leave off your Fooling, and give me a lit∣tle of John Pontaeus his Balsom, whilst my Wound is green.

Ticklef.

Nay Master, if I had broke your Pate, I would have given you a Plaister; but if you break your own Shins, you must be your own Chirurgeon for Tom.

Clod-p.

Well Sirrah, I'le be even with you; but let's be serious; I have a great mind to divert my self with a little Dis∣course with you about the Affairs of your Hemisphere.

Ticklef.

What you please for that, Sir! but pray be as concise as you can for your Life; I must be up by Break o' day, and trudge ten Miles to a Wake, by Eight a Clock i'th' morning, and I'me sure there will be no sport there till Tom Ticklefoot comes with his Tabour and Whistle.

Clod-p.

A Fool scratch you with your own Nayles! Hast thou no more Wit, than to quit the Gentile and Laudable Employ of a Justices Clerk to run rambling up and down the Country, and be the Buffoon to all the Wakes, May-games, Morrice-Dances, and Whitson-Ales? Especially Tom, when thou hadst such excellent Education under me: I am sure thou hast heard me Tickle a Point of Law many and many a time, would ha' done a man's heart good to have heard it: Ah Tom, Tom! thou might'st ha' learn'd something, if thou hadst had Brains.

Ticklef.

You may speak your pleasure; but so long as I can get Fools pence, and pick young Folks pockets with my Drolle∣ry, call me Tom Ticklefool, if you will, it's all one to Tom: Shall I tell you, Master, I got more by Buckingham-Ballad, than by a Dozen of your Warrants; and then I writ a Play t'other day, without Head or Foot, Plot or Language, Wit or Fancy, and yet it turn'd to more Account, than Licensing half the Ale-Houses in our Divi∣sion at Easter: Well! That's my Good, that does me Good: I'me Master o' more Shillings now, since I was my own Master, than I was o' Pence when I was your Servant; and I protest I get more by Tickling my Tabour, than ever you got by Tickling a Point o' Law in all your Life.

Clod-p.

Ay, but Tom! The Creditable∣ness and Gentileness of an Employ is worth something.

Tickef.

Yes, but the Honesty of an Em∣ploy is worth more. I tell you true, my Conscience grumbl'd filthily to live upon the Sins of the People; and I'me certain, two parts in three of those we punish'd for Sinners, we first made Sinners; but that which vex'd me to the Guts, was, that when I (under correction) was the bet∣ter Justice o'th' two, you engross'd all the Profits, and fob'd me off with your Lea∣vings, and poor Tom had nothing but some odd Scraps out o'th' Compositions of poor Whores, to keep Life and Soul toge∣ther: my Doublet was almost all together out at Elbows with writing o' your War∣rants, and my Stockings out at Heels with running o' your Errands; I was your Loads∣man to bring Grist to your Mill, and yet I have not quit Scores with the Botcher to this day: but this I say, my Conscience would not let me tolerate Whores for our Fees.

Clod-p.

This 'tis when every hair-brain'd half-witted Coxcomb will be wiser than Roman Catholick Church: She upon poli∣tick Reasons tolerates Whores and Stews, as knowing, if mens Lusts be damm'd up in their ordinary Course, they'll find a more filthy Channel: She allows Simple Fornication, to prevent Adulteries and Sodo∣mies; the lesser Evil to be the Remedy for the greater.

Ticklef.

Wisely done Master! for Satan to cast out Satan, one Sin to cure another! Why could not She use God's Remedy as well as the Devil's? She prohibits Marri∣age in the Clergy, which is God's Remedy; and allows Fornication in all, which is the Devils: and yet no Remedy neither; for the Devil does but enter his Whelps with the unmarried, that when they have got Impudence enough, he may Flesh 'em upon the Married: And examine it when you will, you shall find all your Adulterers to have first been Fornicators; and he tran∣flates them as they are ripe for the Game, as we do Young Players, from the Nursery in Barbican, to the Academy in Salisbury-Court. I hope this is as serious as your heart can wish.

Clod-p.

Well, take your Course Tom; but we had a strange piece of News in Pur∣gatory t'other day, that you had invaded the Bench, Tom, and had Arraigned the Prisoners, when they were Acquitted by that Blessed Jury, and Condemned the Judge himself too; I promise you, had I catcht you enterloping upon my Office, in my time, I had bestowed such a Clap∣perclawing on you, you should not have Claw'd it off in one Seven Years. But Tom!—

Ticklef.

What a Stir's here with Tom, Tom? Nothing but plain Tom! Were I not under such Circumstances as oblige me not to provoke you, I would tell you, Sir, the Toms are as good Gentlemen as walk upon English Ground: There's Tom-Fool, a very Ancient Family; and Tom-a-Bedlam, that has built him a Stately Pa∣lace near Bishops-Gate, and Tom-Tell-Troth; that thinks his Penny as good Silver as the proudest Bully, whose Ignorance will not let him understand, nor his Guilt bear Plain-dealing; and there's I Tom Ticklefoot, simply, though I say't that should not say't, can derive my Pedigree as high as he that wears the Cock's-Feather in's Cap; Ay,

and many other Toms, that are not asha∣med to shew their Faces before the best man o'th' Parish.

Clod-p.

But all this is nothing to the purpose.

Ticklef.

It may be not to your purpose; but it is close and pertinent to my pur∣pose: I'le justifie it, I am a Gentleman eve∣ry inch of me; and though the Ticklefoot's Family, like some great and famous Rivers, ran under-ground for a few Generations, we have as daring Blood running in our Veins as our Neighbours.

Clod-p.

Yes, yes, it seems so; and from hence you took the Confidence to try over the Trials of Wakeman, Marshal and Corker, and reflected sawcily upon you know who!

Ticklef.

Pish! Go to Law with a Beggar, and get a Lowse! and if ever he get other Costs and Damages of me, I'le forgive him. Besides, I'le lay you an even Wager, two round Six-pences to a broad Shilling, there's never a Jury that plies in West∣minster-Hall, would give a Lowse-da∣mage against me if I were Cast; but I have raised such a Mutiny between his Consci∣ence and his Guimneys, as will not be husht again in one Twelvemonth; but to cry Quits with you, pray what News of Father Ireland in your parts.

Clod-p.

Not a Syllable, I protest Tom.

Ticklef.

Now that's a Wonder, Master! Why, does not Purgatory lie in the ready High Road to Hell?

Clod-p.

Oh yes; we are within a stones throw of the Road; and not two Flight∣shoots from Hell it self: I have seen Souls crowding and thronging upon the Road thither, as thick as ever I saw Gowns in Westminster-Hall in the Term, especially after the famous Victory we had over the French at Monts; and yet I could never hear a word less or more, good or bad of Father Ireland: I conclude therefore he cannot be there; for being a person of great Civility, and very much a Gentle∣man, he would, no doubt, have call'd in, to see some of his old Acquaintance, though some of them o' late have got their Habeas Corpus, and are releas'd.

Ticklef.

Habeas Animam, Master; for so the Writ runs in your Court; but if I might be so bold, pray how do they get out of Purgatory? for I have learn'd all the cunning Tricks (you know) our Rogues here use to break prison, but how to get of Purgatory, seems to me a difficult mat∣ter.

Clod-p.

Why, I'le tell thee, Tom; we all stood pricking up our Ears, and listning, like a Sow i'th' Corn, and assoon as any one hears the Money chink in the Bason, that's offered at the Mass, upon any parti∣cular Souls account, away whips he up to Heaven, without the Civility of taking leave, and leaves all his Bag and Baggage behind him for Garnish amongst the poor prisoners: and therefore the Canon-Law determines, That the poor who are dead can have no Benefit by the Suffrages of the Li∣ving, because they are non-solvent. I, for my part, have lain here these 3 years and up∣wards, and unless 'twas once or twice that I got out upon my parol, have not seen Sun, Moon or Stars all the while, because I left nothing to the Priests to pray me out, and they'l be hang'd ere they do ought for Charity; but I'me very confident, Fa∣ther Ireland, dying a Martyr, was not ob∣lig'd to take a Turn in Purgatory, but had all his Sins expiated by his Sufferings, and went the ready way to Heaven.

Ticklef.

I promise you, Master, that's very probable; for some such Hopes Fa∣ther Turner gave us in his last Prayer at the Gallows.

Clod-p.

Ay smeet Tom! that thou woul∣dest favour me with a Copy on't!

Ticklef.

You may command a greater matter than that comes to: Here it is;

O sweet Jesus, who hath suffered a most painful and ignominious Death upon the Cross for our Salvation, Apply, I be∣seech there; unto me the Merits of thy Sacred Passion; and satictifie unto me these Sufferings o' mine (which I humbly accept for thy sake) in union of the Suffer∣ings of thy Sacred Majesty, and in Punish∣ment, and Satisfaction of my Sins.

Clod-p.

La' you there, Tom! you see the Excellency of our Religion, when our own Sufferings for Christ's sake (such as be sure, Father Turner's were) joyn'd with the Sufferings of Christ, will make Satisfa∣ction to Divine Justice for our Sins.

Ticklef.

The Excellency of your Reli∣gion! pray forbear: I can shew you as excellent Doctrine as this comes to, from a Reverend-Father of our own Church; If a man (says he) be ready to be thrown into th' Sea, he may be piously taught to pray after this manner,

[Grant, O Lord, that the Death of thy Son, and this my Death may be united into one; that so being conjoyn'd; they may be accepted by thee, for the punishment of my Sins, that all thy Wrath may be forgotten, and all my Sins blotted out o' thy Book.]

Nay, I can tell you more, That your Father

Turner (though he was not so ingenuous as to confess it) did but borrow that Do∣ctrine from that Roverend Father of ours, whom he may thank for the first occasion of his being a Catholick: Nay, I'le tell you more than all this, that the degenera∣ted Jews use to conclude their Lives with this Prayer; Let my Death be the Satisfacti∣on for all my Sins! So that I see no singular Excellency in your Religion above other mens.

Clod-p.

However Tom, a blind man may see they died Martyrs in the Judgment of their own Consciences.

Ticklef.

It may be so; but I assure you, they died Traytors in mine.

Clod-p.

O abominable uncharitableness! Why, dost not believe those solemn Prote∣stations of their Innocency, those serious Appeals to God made at the very last Gasp?

Ticklef.

Not a word, upon my Honesty: For, as for Father Ireland, he dy'd with a lowd Lye in's Mouth, enough to have choak'd a man of an ordinary Swallow, without a Hempen Squinzey.

Clod-p.

That was an ugly Business in∣deed Tom: But how dost thou prove it Tom? how dost prove it Boy?

Ticklef.

Prove it! Why, Mr Jenison, a Zealot of their own Religion, has prov'd it over and over; for though modest Ire∣land faced the Court, and would have out∣faced the King's Evidence, that he was in Staffordshire from Aug. 3. to the middle of Septemb. yet in comes this Gentleman, and of his own accord swears, that he saw him, spoke with him in London, Aug. 19. at his own Chamber, plucking off his Boots, say∣ing he was just then come Post out of the Countrey: And this he did as a Gentle∣man, upon no other Motive, but because he saw how this bold Jesuite Brazen'd it out against Authority, and huff'd and hector'd the Sheepish Protestants, when yet all Ireland's Asseverations were broad Falshoods; so that the thing's as plain as the Nose on your Face.

Clod-p.

Ay marry Tom! that was word∣ed like a cunning Sophister; As plain as the Nose of my Fate! why thou knowest I have no Nose on my Face; and so I told thee before.

Ticklef.

Why Master, have the Worms, or the Pox eaten it off? But I meant in∣nocently; and to clear it, I say, 'tis as plain as the Nose upon my own Face.

Clod-p.

Come Tom, enough o' this jest∣ing! dost think I'me in a pickle to drole it, when I have lain so long reezing in the Smoke of Purgatory, that since the Pro∣hibition of Westphalia Hams, I do not be∣lieve there's any thing left in England that can sample my Blackness. But are not things strangely varied with you since the last Pacquet-Boat?

Ticklef.

Ay indeed Master, we have rung Changes so long, that now we begin to ring the Bells backward: you shall see a man as hot as Mustard against Plot and Plotters one day, and as cool (not to say frozen) as Charity, the next; so that I'me confident, Modern Charity, and Zeal a∣gainst Popery, equal Quantities, a Spoonful, is the best Julep in a buring Fever, that is in all the Dispensatory. Good lack! how have I seen a man bawl, and some at mouth for the Plaintiffe to day, that would bawl as lowd for the Defendant to morrow! in twenty four hours the Nature of things and men shall be so changed, that you cannot know 'em again; He that was all Choler, shall be all Flegm, as if the man had been Tapt, and a Sheep's Blood trans∣fus'd into a Lion's Veins.

Clod-p.

Pre'thee Tom unriddle me this Riddle; for I protest it's beyond my Clod-pated Capacity to understand it.

Ticklef.

It's done as easily as you can kiss your hand; 'tis but fluxing a man with Quicksilver, and he's clear another thing.

Clod-p.

Ay but it's dangerous medling with these Quicksilver Medicines Tom.

Ticklef.

Upon my word, Sir, none at all; you may give it to a Chrysom-Child; 'tis as safe as Butter'd Ale, and as nourishing; my Life for your, there's no danger in't; you may if you please, give it inwardly in a competent Dose of Aurum Potabile (that's a rare Vehicle!) or outwardly, by Ʋnction, which is only a hard word for Greasing in the Fist.

Clod-p.

And has it done those Feats they boast of?

Ticklef.

Oh Sir! believe it, if all the Blind that have had their Eyes open'd, all that have had their Tongues loosed, all that have been cured of Deafness, Dumb∣ness, by this rare Receipt, were but so Civil as to make their Acknowledgments, our Lady of Halle would not Glory in a more numerous Retinue: It has made that, no Evidence to save one, which was clear and good Evidence to hang a whole Baker's Dozen; it has made sometimes two Witnesses necessary to every Branch and Article of an Indictment, when, in another Case, and at another Time, one Witness to each Branch or Article, had been mortal, and

kill'd a man as dead as a red Herring: It shall make a Plot no Plot, in eight and forty hours, and convert deadly poyson into a Sovereign Cordial; and that's pretty fair, I think, for one Receipt: which you may see in Poor Ro∣bin's Pharmacopoeia. But I beseech you Master, how come you by your Intelligence?

Clod-p.

We know nothing but what we have from the publick Prints, Diurnals, Cou∣rants, Gazettes, Pamphlets which fly up and down thick and threefold, especially of late. Indeed formerly we had St. Coleman's Letters twice a Week; and they were Authentick: but he's now better employ'd, and our Sta∣ple Advice is from the Gazettes.

Ticklef.

I wonder who writes these Gazettes in your Territories.

Clod-p.

In truth Tom, I cannot well tell; but some few years agone there was a Slip-string-Fellow wrote 'em; he had a hardish kind of Strange Name; but really I have forgot it, only I remember they say he was one of old Noll's Fidlers, and was old Dog at it; he cou'd tell you where Rowland Pippin dwelt, and de∣cypher all his Bum-Trusses. There was not a Spaniel, or a Watch lost, but he could recover it better than Will. Lilly, Moll Cut-purse, or the City-Marshal: but now I think on't, there has been a great Smoak and Smother o' late about the Fires of London and Southwark; prythee what do you above-ground say of that?

Ticklef.

Nay, what do you below-ground say of? for most men with us think you have Reason to know more on't than we.

Clod-p.

Pardon me Tom, for that! we must not tell Tales out of the School; we're un∣der an Oath of Secresie, not to reveal the Ar∣cana Imperii, the Mysteries of our Subterrane∣an Kingdom. Besides, to tell you true, we are not of the Divan; poor Wretches, we are kept close prisoners, and know as little as you do, what the Grand Signior of Hell is plotting in his Cabinet-Council, only common Fame goes with us, that the Fire of London wonderfully abated the Flames of Purgatory, they were e'ne ready to leap out o' their skins for Joy at the News; but tell me seriously, whether you believe our Friends had a Fin∣ger in't?

Ticklef.

A Finger! Ay a Hand, a Head, a Heart, and All in't. Honest Reading tells us in his Trial, that Mr. Bedlow had laid in Fa∣gots behind the Palsgrave's-Head Tavern, to burn Westminster; this he did when a Papist; but he repented sincerely, was pardoned fully and freely; and when Reading charges it, and he owns it, who can deny the Truth of it?

Clod-p.

Did Reading charge it on him? then was he as great a Clod-pate as my self; and yet I thought I had been the Head of our Fa∣mily, and the Top of all our Kin! well! I shall never be dead as long as Reading is alive; I only wish instead of the Pillory, he had mounted the Gallows; for he has done our Cause more Disservice by this Jobb, than ever he did it a Kindness by disparaging the King's Witnesses.

Ticklef.

Why then, Master, I perceive you and I are agreed; let him hang himself to save Squire Ketch a Labour, and honestly cheat him of his Fees.

Clod-p.

But Tom, what saist thou to those sweet hopeful Youths that came from St. O∣mars? Did they not play their parts notably, and manfully overwhelm the King's Evi∣dence with a Torrent of Truth?

Ticklef.

I promise you they had been excel∣lent Tools, had they been in all points a little better instructed; for they spoke home to the Time in Question, but for an hour before, they spake as they had never been born; and for an hour after, as if they had been already dead.

Clod-p.

I confess some of 'em came blewly off; but we can have Twenty more such In∣struments for time of need; and we resolve never to starve our Cause, as you silly Pro∣testants do.

Ticklef.

Nay I'le say that for you, you ra∣ther cram your Cause than starve it; but have a care you do not kill it with Kindness, and whilst you would feed it, burst it; over∣doing is sometimes undoing; but I'le bear you good witness, he's a Fool that will accuse you Catholicks for starving of your Cause.

• Inprimis, For Firing the Burrough of South∣wark 1000 l.
• Item, For poysoning the King, 15000 l.
• Item, For removing Sr. Edmondbury God∣frey, 4000 l.
• Item, For Lessening the King's Evidence, and making the Witnesses easie, per An. 1000 l.
• Item, For pistolling the King, 1500 l.

Clod-p.

Trouble not your self Tom with us or our Concerns; wee'l look well enough to the main Chance I'le warrant thee, without thy Advice; but God has given you Prote∣stants one singular Gift: That you believe our Words that you hear, and will not believe our Works which we do, and so neither your Faith, nor your Ʋnbelief can save you: but so long as we can make you believe your own Ears more than your Eyes, let us alone; wee'l deal well enough with you.

Ticklef.

Well Master, it grows very late; you know my Occasions, pray leave me to my self; I shall be peevish and wranglish all day, if I want my Natural Rest; and so good Night Sir; betake your self to your Rest.

Clod-p.

To my Rest, Tom! No haste but good: Rest in Purgatory! Thank you for

nothing: O the Lassies of Red-hot Whips of Steel-wire! O the burning Pincers that must tear me! O the glowing Coals that must be my Couch! What horror doth the remem∣brance of what I have suffered, and the anti∣cipating Thoughts of what I must suffer, work in my amazed Soul, when the destined Hour calls me to that Penance; and do you bid me go rest?

Ticklef.

Why Sir, is the Body in Purga∣tory?

Clod-p.

What a Childish Question is that for a man of your years? My Body (all that's left on't) is in the Grave; I'me sure I left it there: but 'tis my Soul, Tom, that's tormented in these Flames.

Ticklef.

Now for Old-Acquaintance-sake, Master, tell me, are these Whips, these Pin∣cers, these Flames you talk of, Material, or Immaterial?

Clod-p.

That's a Captious Question now; the Pincers, and Whips, Tom, are Metapho∣rical Terms; but I'le assure thee there's as real Lashings, Whippings, Scorchings as ever you saw a Felon endure at the Whipping-Post, or a Thief when he's Burnt in the Hand.

Ticklef.

But I cannot conceive for my Life, how Material Instruments can affect an Immaterial Being.

Clod-p.

You cannot? perhaps so Tom; thou'rt a dull Philosopher: but to put you to't a little; why may not a Material pair o' Pincers take hold of an Immaterial Spirit, as well as a pair of Immaterial Pincers take hold of a Material Corporeal Substance? Is there not the same proportion between Ma∣terial and Immaterial, that there is between Immaterial and Material?

Ticklef.

Ay Sir, to a single Hair's Breadth; and if you can shew me those Immaterial Tweezers, or Pincers, that can take hold of a Body, I shall easily believe that (though not so easily conceive how) a Material pair may take hold of a Soul: Come, let me see you do't, and I render my self your pris'ner, and shall become your Proselyte.

Clod-p.

Look thee there Tom, is not Feel∣ing Believing, as well as Seeing? What say you now?

Ticklef.

Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh, my Nose, my Nose, my poor Nose, my precious Nose! Purgatory take your Immaterial Pincers; you have almost pluckt off my Nose.

Clod-p.

Really Tom, 'twas only my Imma∣terial Fingers.

Ticklef.

Would you had left your Fin∣gers behind you, as well as your Nose: but I remember now an old Charm we had when we were Boys.

Hob with my Heels, and Bayard with my Toes. Rise up Dead-man, and catch me by th' Nose.

Clod-p.

'Twas only in jest, Tom; to con∣vince thy Incredulity, of the Truth of the Doctrine of Purgatory, and the Extremity of our Torments; but it's an easie matter for such Raskals as you, to drole and gibe very pleasantly upon our Sufferings; I'me sure 'tis we that feel the Smart on't with a wit∣ness.

Ticklef.

I wonder in my heart how you, of all men living, came to drop into Purgatory. I alwayes thought that either your Virtues would ha' sav'd you, or Vices damn'd you; for I protest, I could never for my life yet tell whether your Virtues or Vices were greater.

Clod-p.

The very Truth is, Tom, I had Virtues more than ever I got by; but there were an infinite Number of odd Trifles that I had set o'th' Back-side o' my Book, and thought no more on than my dying day; they call 'em Venial Sins, but they may call 'em what they will, and Nick-name 'em how they will; this I know, if this be the punishment of the Venial, I wonder how they fare that die under Mortal Sins: Now and then there would come dropping in a Sugar-Loaf; some∣times a Couple of Capons; sometimes a Fat Pig; and what Sin (thought I) can there be in a Fat Pig, or Couple of Capons? Really they were very agreeable Food. Twice or thrice (but that was seldom) a Paper of Guinneys was thrust into my hands, handsom∣ly, and modestly, as who say, Say nothing; and I have wondred at it, but could never find the Reason, my Fingers would stick to 'em like Bird-Lime; I vow it was alwayes a∣gainst my will: Then, once, or twice, or so, came a loving Letter from my Lord—, to shew decent Favours to an Innocent Gentle∣man at the Sessions; but thou know'st I al∣wayes did Justice right or wrong. 'Tis true, I had some times occasion to be Drunk; but Good Casuists assur'd me 'twas lawful, for my Health's sake, once a Month; and though I reduc'd it to once a Fortnight, or once a Week, a sorry Circumstance, could never make that Mortal, which before was but Venial, if a Sin at all; now I argued thus with my self, If we be agreed that the Thing is Lawful in it self, why should we make such a Stir about the Quoties?

Ticklef.

I protest you argue most profound∣ly, and had your Learning out o' our Law-Books; for when a Capias will not do, we take out an Alias, then a Pluries, and last of all a Toties quoties.

Clod-p.

Ay but, Tom, Tom, there was a ni∣cer Point; for I ha been overtaken in a Baw∣dy-House; and though my strictest Confessors gave it under their Hands (and I alwayes had a Jesuite) that a man may frequent those Places, though he finds himself ordinarily overcome with the Temptation; provided alwayes that it be not his Primary Intention, in going thither, but that he designs either the Conversion, or Correction of those Sinners; and though I were never good at Conversion, yet thou know'st I have claw'd the Jades, and made 'em sing Lachrymae in Bridewel; and as I am a living Soul, I evermore set my Ends, and Aims, and Intentions as straight as an Arrow, when I went in; yet, I cannot tell how, e're I came out again, my Hand turn'd, and I was carried down with the Stream: but this I must needs say: I have been guilty of Lying, which, in some Cases, they say, is no Sin at all; as when the Lie is Officious: in others but Venial; as, when 'tis Ludicrous: and if in some Cases it be Mortal; as, when 'tis Malicious: yet I dare swear, my Venial Lies were more by half than my Mortal ones; and then why might not I set the one against the other? But upon the whole, I must needs say, I'me better dealt with than I deserved.

Ticklef.

I'm clearly o' your mind for that matter; I'm sure on't, we poor Protestants must ha' been damn'd for the tythe of what comes to: but, I assure you, we were so far from dreaming that you were in Purgato∣ry, that we never suspected you to be a Papist.

Clod-p.

There was my Master-piece Tom: It gave me a little refrigerium, once to think how I had eluded all their Oaths of Allegiance, Supremacy, their Tests, and State-Ordeals; but I went to Church, when I could not hand∣somly be sick, nor take Physick; I railed at Fanaticks, and boasted o' my Loyalty, and pass'd for a very good Son of the Church: but, prethee Tom, how did my Executrix behave her self towards my memory?

Ticklef.

Oh, Sir! With all respectfulness imaginable, you had a most splendid Funeral, and at the Funeral a most elegant Sermon, where the Parson Canoniz'd you for a Saint, the best man, the most tender Husband, the most useful Neighbour, the greatest Peace∣maker, the Oracle of the Bench for a Justice, the grand Pattern for a Christian; and, in a word, you was the Mirrour of Chastity, Charity, Piety, and so he drew the Curtains about you, and left you to your Rest. I, for my part, as I came out o'th' Church-door, could not but say, Well! whatever I thought, I see my Master (peace be with him) is in Heaven: And my Mistress, who c••••'d and took on without all whoe, caused a sumptu∣ous Monument to be erected to your Memo∣ry, with the name of both your Wives, your Ancestors (indeed they mention'd not your Children, for a reason that we all knew;) and last of all, there was an Epitaph bestowed upon your Marble.

Clod-p.

An Epitaph, Tom! Thou dost me good at heart: I prethee, without more ado let me hear it; you cannot think how we are affected with those Honours and Re∣spects which are shewn to our Ʋrns and Me∣mories.

Ticklef.

Indeed Master, I cannot vouch for the Poetry of it, but 'twas the best we could chuse out of a dozen, and, to be plain with you, I made it my self, but it cost me pump∣ing.

Here lies old Justice Clod-pate, Who had many a crotchet in's od-pate; And had it not been for Grizel his Wife, He might have lived all the days of his life. Sic cecinit Tom Ticklefoot.

but Master, our case is very hard beyond yours, who count those sins venial that we judge mortal, and must pay for 'em.

Clod-p.

Who'l pity you, Tom, when you may so easily evade the danger o' mor∣tal sins, and will not?

Ticklef.

I had as lieve as a hundred shil∣lings, I had the knack on't, how to sin, and enjoy my self all my life long, and then escape eternal Torments at the last.

Clod-p.

Come, Tom, what will you give me, if I instruct you in the Mystery on't in a moment?

Ticklef.

Ah, sweet Honey-Master! I'le give you a Ten Groats-Fee; or you shall have all I get at the Wake to morrow, be it less or more; Happy go Luckie, you shall have it every Farthing, bona fide; you see I ha' not forgot all my Latine.

Clod-p.

Ten Groats! Who's Fool then, Tom? Will you procure 15000 Masses to be said for my Soul?

Ticklef.

You fly high, Sir; why, Pyke∣ring was but to have 15000 Masses for killing a King.

Clod-p.

Nay, now thou'rt out, Tom-fool: Dost think those Masses were to deliver him from Purgatory for such a Meritorious Work? No, no, he never needed fear Purgatory on that Account; but if perhaps he had died in the Act under some Irregularities; as suppose, guilty of some other Peccadillo's, those Masses should have quitted his odd Scores,

and fetcht him out of Limbo with flying Co∣lours. Now for the Vastness of the Sum, Tom, that was only (as the Learned speak) in ma∣jorem Cautelam; or as we of the Laity, to make sure work on't: And is it not better to have a Thousand or two of Masses too many, than one single Mass too few? Come Tom, Store's no Sore, in my mind; and if he hap∣pen'd to have any Overplus, he might sell 'em at a Marketable Rate, and do his Indigent Friends a Kindness: What say you, Tom, will you come up to my price?

Ticklef.

Upon my honest word, I'le pro∣cure you fifteen thousand, under or over; it's pretty hard to count exactly to an Unite; but I'le be as good as my word, and there's a Te∣ster to bind the Bargain.

Clod-p.

Why, then in the first place, you must confess all your Sins, with their Circum∣stances, in Thought, Word and Deed, and get your Ghostly Father to absolve you for 'em; then you must provide your self of good store of Indulgences for all those Sins that are out o'the Priest's Jurisdiction, and when you come to die, get a Franciscan's Cowl thrown over your Ears, and I'le war∣rant you, Purgatory shall never singe a Hair of your Head; but if you should drop in by chance (as who can be against a Chance) then get some of your Friends to lay down as much Money for you as will purchase fifteen thousand Masses for your Soul, which is but fifteen hundred Pound.

Ticklef.

Ay marry Master! this is just as long as 'tis broad; I must get 15000 Masses to be said for your Soul, to tell me the rare Secret of getting 15000 to be said for my own; and so I must be at the Charge for my self and you too, which comes to three thou∣sand pounds sterling: I see the Priests will lick their Fingers on both sides, and gain, whoe∣ver loses; would I had my Six-pence again: I'le not hold.

Clod-p.

Nay I knew thou wouldst play the Jack with me; but I'me well enough serv'd, to trust a Rascal that has cheated me so often.

Ticklef.

And so are we easie Protestants, to trust you, when we have had such dear∣bought Experience of your Famous Maxim, That no Faith is to be kept with Hereticks.

Clod-p.

But, Tom, I'le tell thee a pleasant Story.

Ticklef.

I cannot hinder you telling your Stories; but I'me resolved never more to be∣lieve a Word you say.

Clod-p.

Your Unbelief comes too late now Tom; you have believed us so long, and we have made that advantage of it, that we care not Two-pence whether you believe us or no: you believed us till we had done our Work; you may now spare your Faith; wee'l make you live by Feeling, e're we ha' done with you.

Ticklef.

Pray leave Fidling with my Nose then, and I defie you; do your worst; but what will you, what can you do?

Clodp.

What's that to Tom Ticklefoot? Do you think us such Fools as to tell you before hand? No: Wee'l cast a Mist before your Eyes, you shall not see what you do see: nor hear what you do hear, nor believe the ful∣lest, clearest Evidence that can be brought in against us.

Ticklef.

And so I hope you have done: Bo∣nus Nocius, Master, in plain English, Good Night.

Clodp.

Farewel, honest Tom: but wonnot you hear my fine Story out?

Ticklef.

Hear it out? Why, it is not begun yet; and when you once begin, you'l never know when to make an end; you'l have all the Talk to your self, engross and monopolize the Discourse, and poor Tom shall not wedge in a word to save his Life: I am never more tormented than with your wordy, long-wind∣ed impertinencies.

Clodp.

Why then I'le tell thee the shortest, and truest Story that ever I told in all my dayes.

Ticklef.

That you may soon do, I promise you, but pray Sir, what is it?

Clod-p.

Honest Dick Langhorn came late last night to Purgatory.

Ticklef.

And is this one of the short Stories? why, I foresee, if a man had no more Grace and Wit than to sit it out, you will make this short Story last till to morrow this time. He came to Purgatory; and he came last night to Purgatory; pray let's divide the point, that we may handle it more distinctly. And first, I pray, why to Purgatory? I had thought your Martyrs had made but one Stage on't to Heaven?

Cold-p.

No great matter what you think: I tell thee I saw him there, with these Eyes, by the same token, there were two or three young Jesuits, that gave him the coursest Complement for a welcome, that I suppose he ever had in's life.

Ticklf.

I long extremely to hear their rude Salutation.

Clod-p.

Why Tom, assoon as ever they spi∣ed him, without Preface, without Ceremony, they fell aboard him, and so belabour'd him, each with his well-temper'd Steel whip, that had lain soaking in Fire and Brimstone above a Month (Ay, Tom, there were Rods in piss for him) and did so firk him too and again, raked him fore and ast, that I protest I have seen few such Bouts since I came hither.

Ticklf.

But still I'm in the dark, why such an Eminent Saint, such an Heroick Martyr, should be doom'd to Purgatory; if he drop't in by chance, it was an ugly chance.

Clod-p.

The plain truth is, 'tis whispered amongst us, that Dick Langhorn plaid the Scoggin, and revealed some Mysteries of his own Trade, and some of the Jesuits, about some Lands settled upon their Society, for their better Maintenance, and other Uses, which they call Secret Service.

Ticklef.

Then Master, Secondly, Why not before late last night? did he make Loyter∣pins by the way? had he bestirred his stumps, and not truanted his time, he might have reacht his Journeys end a fortnight ago.

Clod-p.

Come, come, Tom, make it your own case: he that's to be hang'd finds most of the Spectators at the Gallows before him; I'le engage for thee, Tom, had'st thou been sent o' that Errand, thou would'st not ha' broke thy shins for haste.

Ticklef.

It may be I might, if some unhappy Wagg had set Stools and Forms in my way, when I came groping in the dark: Ha, Sir?

Clod-p.

Well, well Sirrah; leave your frump∣ing, the Case was this; When he came just to the gate, and view'd the frightful Frontis∣piece, all cross-barr'd with Iron; Smoke and Flame breaking out at the Loop-holes, his Heart misgave him; and though he was led by four stern infernal Paritors, he claps his Feet against the Threshold, and his hands against both sides of the Wicket, and there he stuck and hung an Arse so obstinately, like a Thill-Horse, that with all the strength and cunning they had, they could not get him in. The Governour of our Bridewell sends out half a dozen of us to assist the Beadles, but two of 'em (I thank ye,) having got a Spit and a stride, shew'd us a fair pair of heels, and honestly ran away. I confess, I had as good a mind as the best to have made one, but being troubled of old with a scurvy Sciatica, I distrusted my Footmanship, and durst not venture to augment my Torments by a fruit∣less Attempt, but there stood we heaving, lifting, thrusting, shoving, three or four days, till we were all quite spent, to no purpose; till yesterday in the Evening, one of our fine-witted Jesuits with a wile, (which they have at their Fingers ends) got him into Limbo.

Ticklef.

I wonder you have not a squadron of Angels there ready for a desperate piece of service.

Clod-p.

Why, truly Tom, there were An∣gels there of both sorts, Good and Bad; but the good had a great kindness for him, for he's right in the main, and they would not make, nor meddle with us, hot nor cold, but bid us bake as we brew'd, for they would not concern themselves without an express Order from Rhadamanthus. As for the bad Angels, they shewed themselves very offici∣ous, but he was so anointed all over with oyl of Equivocations, they might as soon hold an Eel by the tayl, as get a gripe on him: besides, he had so flancker'd and forti∣fied himself, with Crossings, Agnus Dei's, and Reliques, he was more Impregnable than Ost∣end or Stockholm: but at last, what Force could not do, that fine Policy I told you of before effected.

Ticklef.

You told me before: Sure Master you talk idly for want of sleep: I never heard the fine Policy, nor do I believe that any quirks or tricks as Hell it self could over∣reach a Catholick Lawyer.

Clod-p.

In short, it was this: A crafty Je∣suit comes me as far as the Wicket; Dick Langhorn, (sayes he) what will you not see your old Friend Bedloe? he's just now arri∣ved a back-way in our Quarters. Is the Rogue Bedloe arrived (replied he) I'le have one lash at his Breech for all his good Deeds: and being a little tickled with the sugred hopes of Revenge, was not, it seems, so careful of his hold, but let his Hands and Feet slacken, and the Officers watching their opportunity, heaved him in, and fairly clap't the gate upon him: but I shall never forget how they ferretted him; Banks his Horse ne∣ver danced a Galliard at that wild rate: they smoak't him, they jerk't him, and bounc'd him about the stoops, and scoured all the Arrears of his four dayes obstinacy upon his hide, though we might legibly read the marks of a late Discipline he had undergone before he came thither.

Ticklef.

Now, I protest Master, All this is as pure a Romance as Purgatory it self: and I'le be as good as my word, not to be∣lieve one syllable of this short long Story; but yet I would fain know the order of your proceedings in punishing Offenders there.

Clod-p.

Tom, Did'st ever see the Discipline of Bridewell?

Ticklef.

Yes, Master, many and many a time; but once to my exceeding great Mor∣tification, above all the rest.

Clod-p.

Why just such is the Discipline of Purgatory; for this is certain, that in the Time of Popery in England, a curious Artist brought 'em a Model of Purgatory, and the Court of Aldermen made Bridewel by the Plat∣form: the Delinquent is brought in, and with strong Cords is made to embrace the Whip∣ping-Post, two sturdy stout Knaves stand rea∣dy

Armed with their Instrumens of Executi∣on; the Master o' this House o' Correction sits in his great Chair, his Assessors on either hand, he holds in his right hand (that is, ex∣cept he be left-handed) a small Hammer (thus far you would say it was but an Auction) and when he gives the word of Command, the Lictors fall to Work; that is, Knock goes the Hammer, Slash (say they) upon his Posterio∣rums: Thump again goes the Hammer, Thwack go they; and so as long as the Hammer goes, and—

Ticklef.

Pray Master, pardon me, if I inter∣rupt you a little: I protest Purgatory has been as ill bestow'd upon you as upon any man that ever went through that Gantelope.

Clod-p.

Prythee, why, Tom?

Ticklef.

You three years and upwards in that School! Fie, I'me asham'd of you.

Clod-p

Why, Tom.

Tickef.

Why? What an incorrigible piece are you? The End of the Institution of that Furnace was, to burn off all the Dross, Rust, and Filth that Sinners had contracted here in this World; but I perceive you'r as famous a Liar as ever you was in your Life: I'le ex∣change places with you, if ever the Legends told greater Rappers than you have done in so few Lines. For shame, Master, for shame, no more of this Stuff; you may lie for the Whetstone, I'le warrant you. You think you have Travell'd where I shall never come to confute you; and now you think you may lie by Authority, and cum Privilegio.

Clod-p.

What, you'r got into one of your Rayling Humors.

Ticklef.

Out upon't, these are all meer Par∣kerism's; get a Sac. Dom. to Licence your Stories, or I'le hold you a Wager your Book will be burnt like Muggleton's.

Clod-p.

Well then, Tom, tell me some truer Stories of your own: I long to carry some News with me down below; if I come emp∣ty, they'l go nigh to send me back again. What News, prythee, about your Elections? I hear there's old Drinking, and Feasting, and Treating still for Members to serve in Parlia∣ment: What kind o' People do they chuse?

Ticklef.

Why, Sir, e'ne so, so; a Thief and a Gentleman, as they couple Rabbits.

Clod-p.

But I would fain hear whom they have chosen at my Native Town of B—.

Ticklef.

Well thought on, Master; I have just now receiv'd a Letter that will gratifie your Curiosity, and Importunity both with a Labour: In the first place, they have pitch'd upon an Old, Rotten, Crooked, Warped piece of Timber, that will never make a Supporter for a Tottering State, or a Crutch for a Lame Church; such a Stick of Wood as I durst not venture to make a Hovel-Post on: They may make a pair of Gallows of him to hang his Electors, and that's all that ever he will be good for: And in the next place, they have chosen a Son to Vote against, and Condemn his own Father: And is it not a comely Sight to see the Son within the Walls of the House o' Commons, when the Dad is within the Walls o'th' Tower for High-Treason? This is their Choice; and now they'r ready to eat off their Fingers for their Folly, when 'tis too late.

Clod-p.

That's a piece o'th' best News I'me like to carry down with me: But, Tom, how have they chosen in Essex?

Ticklef.

O! Upon my Word, there's a Cooting Card for you: But I perceive you play Loath to Depart: Good Night, Master, once for all. Pray have a Care you do not break your Shins again as you go out: And if you have a mind to tell any more Stories, pray tell 'em to the Wall for me; I'le go sleep as hard as I can drive; and so Farewel Master Clod-pate.