JOHN.
Your kindness requited shall be;
There’s the Calvinist-Methodists, see,
Who’re eternally troublous to you and to me.
Now I’ll stir up the hounds of the whore
That’s called scarlet, to worry them sore;
And then roast ’em in Smithfield, like Bonner of yore.
NICK.
O a meal of the Calvinist brood
Will do my old stomach more good,
Than a sheep to a wolf that is starving for food.
JOHN.
When America’s conquer’d, you know
(’Til then we must leave them to crow),
I’ll work up our rulers to strike an home blow.
NICK.
An excellent plan, could you do it;
But if all the internals too knew it,
They’d be puzzled, like me, to tell how you’ll go through it.
JOHN.