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 attone
For all the Ills, the mighty Ills I've done,
To a Martyr'd Fathers too much injur'd Son?
Shall I thus publick tell the World in Rhimes,
How much, how oft I've sin'd, how many times
I have deserv'd a Halter for my Crimes?
Crimes of all sorts, against the Church and State,
Whose Foes I lov'd, but all their Friends did hate,
Which to my grief and shame 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' Alseeing pow'r above
To take away my long since forfeit breath,
I must resign, and yield my self to Death:
Yet do I wish to live, and see once more
Britains chief seat, but date not venture o're,
Though I am tyr'd with this detested Shore.
That Treasonous Book that brought me so much gain,
Is now become my chiefest Plague and Pain;
As one scab'd Sheep infects a num'rous Flock,
So that damn'd Book spoyl'd my remaining Stock,
And Banish'd all the rest clear from my Shop.
Here they'r endu'd with so much Sence and Reason,
They seldom, rather never deal in Treason,
For Plotting Sirs, is here much out of Season:
So those supplys which I receiv'd before,
I bid adieu to, and expect no more.
Curse on the Traytors first that drew me in,
And doubly Curst be that accursed Sin
Rebellion, and the Head that did begin:
But that Old Squinter saw the Storm and slew,
And like true Politician Rogue withdrew,
First into this, then into tother World,
After those Fire balls up and down be had hurl'd,
That almost set the Nation in a Flame,
Which Hellish deed, be't spoken to his Fame,
Has rais'd immortal Scandal to his Name,
And brought those mighty Pillers of the Cause,
Under the dreadful Sentence of just Laws,
Which Ignoramus spurn'd with great Applause.
But now beware ye Teckelitish Brood.
Ye damn'd 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 chouse the Old, nor g [...]ll the Youth;
Your bold Shaftburian Boys on Bonefire nights,
Those Club-guards to your Antipopish sights,
Are now all fled, vanish'd away like fume,
Just as Count Tecklys (Rebel) Friends consume.
His Cause and yours had both the like pretence,
He did, you wou'd Rebel against your Prince,
Yours fail'd you first, and his has fail'd 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 strove ever to decrease.
'Tis now high time to change your colour'd Cotes,
Since late the Jump-relinquisht Titus Oates:
In the first Plot ye blam'd 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 possest my Head,
That precious Saint will ne're dye in his Bed;
For he will, Hedgbird like, e'ne stay and see,
Himself, cum multis aliis, swing on Tree,
The just reward for Whiggish Loyalty.
Therefore to all ye Trayt'rous Friends adieu,
Farewel 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 turn'd out self-conceited plaguey Wits,
From such Horn'd 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 stole his Ears,
And yet he huffs and bawls, and's damn'd uncivil
To me that liv'd 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,
Farewel each Common Council busie Sot,
That's a well-wisher to Old Tonys Plot.
'Tis true, (when on of those) I once was able
My self alone to animate the Rable,
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 farewel 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 hord:
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 Tree:
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.