THE Recanting Whigg, OR JOHN THUMB's Confession, being his Sentiments on the present times, in a Letter from Amsterdam, to the Fragment of that Hypocritical, Diabolical, Fanatical Association.  
SIRS,  

WHAT shall I do, or how shall I atone  
For all the Ills, the mighty Ills I've done,  
To a martyred Fathers too much injured Son?  
Shall I thus public tell the World in rhymes,  
How much, how oft I've sinned, how many times  
I have deserved a Halter for my Crimes?  
Crimes of all sorts, against the Church and State,  
Whose Foes I loved, but all their Friends did hate,  
Which to my grief and shane I own too late;  
And wish those damned faults to expiate  
With any thing but Life, for that I love,  
Though when it please th' all-seeing power above  
To take away my long since forfeit breath,  
I must resign, and yield myself to Death:  
Yet do I wish to live, and see once more  
Britains chief seat, but date not venture o'er,  
Though I am tired with this detested Shore.  
That Treasonous Book that brought me so much gain,  
Is now become my chiefest Plague and Pain;  
As one scabbed Sheep infects a numerous Flock,  
So that damned Book spoyled my remaining Stock,  
And banished all the rest clear from my Shop.  
Here they're endued with so much sense and Reason,  
They seldom, rather never deal in Treason,  
For Plotting Sirs, is here much out of Season:  
So those supplys which I received before,  
I bid adieu to, and expect no more.  
Curse on the Traytors first that drew me in,  
And doubly cursed be that accursed Sin  
Rebellion, and the Head that did begin:  
But that Old Squinter saw the Storm and slay,  
And like true Politician Rogue withdrew,  
First into this, then into tother World,  
After those Fire balls up and down be had hurled,  
That almost set the Nation in a flamme,  
Which Hellish dead, be't spoken to his famed,  
Has raised immortal Scandal to his Name,  
And brought those mighty pillars of the Cause,  
Under the dreadful Sentence of just Laws,  
Which Ignoramus spurned with great Applause.  
But now beware ye Teckelitish Brood.  
Ye damned Antagonists to all that's good;  
Your sanctified Looks and Plots are vain,  
Never expect to play the Cheat again;  
Your guilded Shams will never pass for truth;  
No more you'l choose the Old, nor g●ll the Youth;  
Your bold Shaftburian Boys on bonfire nights,  
Those Club-guards to your Antipopish sights,  
Are now all fled, vanished away like fume,  
Just as Count Tecklys( Rebel) Friends consume.  
His Cause and yours had both the like pretence,  
He did, you would Rebel against your Prince,  
Yours failed you first, and his has failed him since.  
'Tis just indeed, such Fortune should attend  
Those Villains, who Religion will pretend,  
When they design some other hellish end:  
Therefore ye Whiggish grand Impostors cease  
Your wonted motions, to disturb that Peace  
Which your whole Race striven ever to decrease.  
'Tis now high time to change your coloured coats,  
Since late the Jump-relinquisht Titus oats:  
In the first Plot ye blamed his lavish Tongue,  
But now he plainly says your Cause is wrong:  
He wears the Gown again, with some pretence,  
Not without hopes his R— ship may commence  
Salamanca, Doctor and Whigs Evidence.  
But saith one Night a Dream possessed my Head,  
That precious Saint will ne're die in his Bed;  
For he will, Hedgbird like, e'en stay and see,  
Himself, cum multis aliis, swing on three,  
The just reward for Whiggish Loyalty.  
Therefore to all ye Trayt'rous Friends adieu,  
farewell ye sneaking Rope-deserving Crew;  
First the remainder of the Whiggish Leaders,  
Then your smooth tong●'d Religious Treason pleaders;  
Next ye Cornuted Knights, and silly Cits,  
Those turned out self-conceited plaguey Wits,  
From such horned Beasts, all honest men should run,  
And Whiggish Monsters as the Plague should shun.  
But above all, here's one with us appears,  
As if the Pillory had stolen his Ears,  
And yet he huffs and bawls, and's damned uncivil  
To me that lived so long, so near the Devil;  
But let him go, we know him by his mark,  
For ne're was such a Beast in Noahs Ark:  
But stay, God-Zooks, I almost had forgot,  
farewell each Common Council busy Sot,  
That's a well-wisher to Old Tonys Plot.  
'Tis true,( when on of those) I once was able  
myself alone to animate the rabble,  
Because my fiery Face was formidable.  
My Carbuncles, th'effects of Whiggish Bub,  
Entitled me a Grandee of the Club;  
Where the composure of our hellish sinning  
Had its Original and first beginning.  
Therefore once more farewell to all such Teachers,  
And all the Hearers of such Non con Preachers,  
To all the Rogues that once were Termagnant,  
Baldwin, and Vile, Old, and Young Elephant,  
Curtis, and Janeway, Care, and in a word,  
The remnant of that Treason-Printing hoard:  
May they like me repent, or else go on,  
In the old beaten Paths of Forty One,  
Till Justice seize you, then pray think on me,  
How boldly I confess, how frank and free,  
Far from the sight of Tyburns fatal three:  
If you scape that, and hope to save your Quarters,  
Let each Rogue hang himself in's own Wives Garters:  
So Sirs, I hope you'l thank me, for I'm civil,  
T'advise you how you may avoid that evil,  
And not go headlong, headless to the Devil.   
Amsterdam, Novemb. 17. 1683.   

LONDON: Printed for G. Shell, 1684.