body is oppreffed in England; or if any one should be injured, the law will right him. We are well at prefent, and we defign to keep fo. If we drove away the rich men, what would become of all the poor? Who would there be to pay the parish rates? Who would there be to maintain the Hospitals and Infirmaries where fo many people get cured for nothing when they are fick, or when they meet with bad accidents? You have no fuch thing in France as our laws for the relief and maintenance of the poor; you have no fuch thing in France as our public charities, and our county hofpitals; but we who have them know their value, and we do not choose to run the rifk of loofing them. If all the rich were gone, the poor would get no employment, and would foon be in want of bread; the farmer would never be fure of his farm, nor of his crops, for a day together; the manufacturers would all be ruined, for there would be nobody to buy their goods; in short, the whole island would be torn to pieces. None but rogues with to overturn the laws, for every body else would lofe by it; none but wicked and abandoned criminals could with to deftroy religion, for to every body else it is full of hope and com, fort. No doubt we have fome troublesome and bad men, and you are very welcome to take them all to France, if you have not enough of them already: but, thank God! we have also a great many honeft men who are refolved to maintain the laws; and a great many good men who will not part with their religion.

Frenchman. I thought Englishmen loved liberty, and never would be flaves.

Englishman. Take my word for Take my word for it, Monfieur, we never will be flaves to France; and as to liberty, you talk very finely about it; but you don't know what it means. Your's is the liberty of murderers and house-breakers, the liberty of cutting your neighbour's throat, and taking away his purfe: our Englifh liberty is a very different and a much better thing; it is the liberty of enjoying our own in peace and fafety, and of doing what we pleafe, provided we do no harm to any body

elfe.

Frenchman.

friend.

Well, I only meant to advise you as a

Englishman. We defire none of your friendship nor advice: we don't want you to tell us whether we are free and happy if any thing was the matter with us, we should find it out by ourfelyes, and fet it to rights without your affistance. The truth is, you have ruined your own country, and now you perfuade us to ruin ours; just like the fox that advised all the

other

other foxes to cut off their tails because he had loft his own tail in a trap. Don't we know that the French are always treacherous and deceitful? don't we know that they have been at the bottom of almost all the troubles that have happened in the world, and especially in old England? don't we know that they hate us, and fear us, and envy us; and are always watching for opportunities to plague and hurt us? therefore, Monfieur, I tell you once again, that we cannot truft you; we sufpect your pretended friendship and your fair speeches, and defire to have nothing at all to do with you.

Frenchman. But though you won't believe me, you may be lieve Tom Paine, for he is an Englishman.

Englishman. He, an Englishman! no, no, he has forfeited that title long ago. I know he was born in England, but that only makes him worse, for he has been a traitor to his native country, and always working hard to trouble us. Did not he first of all run away for debt? Did not he go to America, and take part with the enemies of poor old England, and do us all the mifchief he was able there? Not content with that, did not he come back, and try to make riots here at home? Is not he at laft turned Frenchman? and is not he as fpiteful, and wicked, and raving mad as any of you? We should be mad too if we trusted such a rogue as that.

Frenchman. You won't venture to talk in this manner when we come over to England with fifty thoufand foldiers.

Englishman. Oho! you threaten us, do you? Pray, Monfieur, bring an hundred thoufand, if you like it; the English defire no better fun than to drub you into good behaviour, as we have often done before. And I'll tell you what; if any of you are left alive after your drubbing, we'll fend you to the convicts at Botany Bay, where you will find honester and quieter people than yourselves. In the mean time, Monfieur, let me advife you to get back to your French frogs and foup meagre ; for I give you warning, that if I ever catch you playing your tricks again, and trying to make a disturbance here, I'll take you before a justice, and fhew you the inside of an English jail,

DIALOGUE

BETWEEN

A LABOURER AND A GENTLEMAN.

Gent.

WHO

HO is that man, John, whom I have feen talking fo long to you and your partners?

John. I never faw him before, Mafter; but he is a fine spoken gentleman; he has told us a great many things we never knew, or thought on before. He faid, as how, that all mankind are born equal, are equal, and ought to be equal; and that no one should be richer or poorer than another—and that the conftitution and the laws wanted reformation and alteration, and a great deal of the like; and then he gave us this book to read; its called, he faid, the Rights of Men; was not that very kind in a stranger?

you

Gent. Very unkind, John.

John. How fo, Master?

Gent. Because, John, he gave you that book, in hopes it might make you diffatisfied with your fituation, which is not doing kindly by you, John. But come, John, let you and I have a little converfation about what this man has faid to you; and I have known one another many years; I have always endeavoured to ferve you, and therefore you cannot fup pofe I would mislead you; you know nothing of that fine fpoker gentleman, as you call him, but from what he fays; and I'll prove to you he has told you a great many lies. In the first place, he talked, you fay, about all mankind being equal. Pray, John, how happened it that you let your good.. woman cuff you fo the other day, when you had been making too free with Farmer Hearty's ale; with thofe fifts of yours, John, you might have made her quiet.

John. Yes, Mafter; but who would lift up his hand against a woman; that's not a fair match, Mafter.

Gent. Right, John-Women and men, John, then you fee are not equal-and pray, John, how old is this lad of yours? John. Three, Mafter.

Gent. And this other, John; he is the ftouteft

John. Two, Mafter: but the eldest was always a puny little fellow from his birth; the other as ftrong as a horse. Gent. Then men are not born equal you find, John-and

now tell me how you came off at the boxing match, John; who beat, Tom Clodpole, or you?

me.

John. I Mafter; all hollow-Tom has no chance with

Gent. Don't brag too much, John; you some times have the worst of it.

John. O Mafter, you mean when I fought Ben the butcher; but Ben is as ftrong again as I am,

Gent. Why then, John, you allow that Tom is not equal to you, nor you equal to Ben; and now friend, John, one question more. Do you think, John, you could speak as well as Juftice Worthy did the other day from the Bench?

John. No, Mafter, to be fure not, though I had ftudied all my life; why he fpoke for a full hour without a book-When I want to jobe the children, I can hardly find words to do it, or remember what it is I want to fay. Our Joan beats me there; the can talk almost as faft as his Worfhip did, though not fo much to the purpose.

Gent. Well then, John, you fee it's all false what the fine gentleman faid about mankind being equal. The truth is, mankind are naturally unequal; are born unequal; do, and muft, live unequal; unless they would live like favagesWomen are weaker than men, one man is weaker than another': one man is 'wifer than another. What a filly fellow this fine fpoken gentleman muft be.

John. Why to be fure he feems to be wrong there-but he was right furely, Mafter, when he faid it would be better, if there were no poor; if the rich were to divide their money with the poor; and fo all be equal in that refpect.

Gent. And what fhare, John, would you have?

John. Nay, Mafter, I don't know; but enough not to be forced to work; and to have a hot dinner and white bread every day.

Gent. And where would you get your dinner, John?

John. At the butcher's and baker's.

Gent Hold, John; you forget, if all are equal, the butcher and baker won't work any more, than you.

John. Why then I'll go to the farmer, and buy a fat sheep and a comb of wheat, and kill and bake for myfelf

Gent. No, John, that won't do; the farmer will have no fheep or wheat to fell; his labourers will be all equal to him, and you; and like you will chufe to have a hot dinner and white bread, without working for it. Thus you fee, John, if all men were equal, the bulinefs of the world could not go on, John. I believe you are right, Master; but if there must be

rich

rich and poor, I hope there is no fin in wishing I had been born rich, and not poor,

Gent. Why, John, if it's not a fin, it's at least a folly; for why do you with you had been born rich.

John. Because then I fhould have been happier than I am

now.

Gent. That I doubt, John.

John. Sure, Master, if I could afford to live as the 'Squire does, and to have every day a great dinner, with plenty of ale and wine, I should be happier than living as I do, and obliged to work hard, to earn bread and cheese. I envy the 'Squire every time I hear his dinner bell.

Gent. It was only yesterday he told me he envied you.

John. That's likely indeed; what 'Squire Wealthy envy a poor labouring man like me?

Gent. Yes, John, he does, and with more reafon than you envy him; for you must know, John, that his fine clothes, and houfes, and carriages, and fervants, give him no pleasure at all; he is foured to them; what one is conftantly used to, affords one little fatisfaction; that drab coat of your's, John, it gives you no pleasure to look at it now, that you have worn it fix months, yet the first Sunday you had it, I remember you seemed quite proud of it,

John. Why that's true, Mafter; and as to fine clothes, I would not give a fig for them; if a man can keep himself decent and warm, its enough; and as to carriages, and fervants, and horfes, I hope never to be carried while I can walk; and I fhould hate to have fine powdered fellows waiting on me; but then a nice soft bed when one's tired: they fay, the 'Squire fleeps on down.

Gent. Nay, John, when one's tired one foon falls asleep, and then what fignifies the bed-I dare fay, when once you are in bed, you foon forget what the bed is made of; but the poor 'Squire tells me he never fleeps two hours together. John. What hinders him?

Gent. Why between you and I, John, good living and idlenefs bring upon the rich themselves, and often too upon their children, the gout, and many other diforders, which the poor never have, which torment them all day, and won't let them fleep at night; fo what with them, and the cares which their riches occafion, they are often rather objects of pity than envy and as to eating and drinking, as they never wait till they are hungry or dry, they do not know the pleasure of eating or drinking; they fit down to table without appetite, and would

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