Antidotum Culmerianum: or, Animadversions upon a late pamphlet, entituled, Cathedrall newes from Canterbury, &c. by Richard Culmer, who is here (according to his friends desire, and his own desert) set forth in his colours.

Antidotum Culmerianum: OR, Animadverſions upon a late Pamphlet, ENTITULED, Cathedrall Newes from Canterburie: BY RICHARD CULMER.

TO begin with the Title, Cathedrall Newes. Newes. What a falſe Signe is here hung out? What an Ignis fatuus hath this Scribler lighted, both to his Patrons and Reader? Cathedrall Newes? Why how now friend? What out as ſoone as in? Out at the very firſt ſtep? Stumble at the threſhold? Cathedrall Newes, quoth he? Nothing leſſe man. Doth not the whole Kingdome ring of the ſpoile of many of its goodlieſt Cathedralls, become Martyria, (objects of Martyrdome) by the fury and malice of ſuch deſperate wild Reformers as you and: your fellowes, ſince theſe armes taken up, as at Wincheſter, Lincolne, Lichfield, Peterborough, — En quò diſcordia Templa Perdaxit nitida— &c. and is the ſerving the Canterburian Cathedrall in the like kind, or worſe, Cathedrall Newes now? Away, miſtaken man! away with your ſtale newes, ſtinking ſtale indeed, if ever any, in the noſtrils both of God and all good men, Prophane wretch! abuſe Gods Houſe, deface his Temple, and then vaunt, and boaſt, and bragg on't? glorie in your ſhame? triumph in your turpitude? make Ballads of it? add impudence to your ſacriledge? Proh ſcelus infandum! A peccavi (one would think) a Miſerere mei, an humble confeſſion, accompanied with an hearty contrition would have better become you.

But ſtay,From whence what's next? From Canterbury, Cathedrall Newes from Canterbury. To ſee: what out again? Fie, blunderer, fie! what another ſtumble? miſtaken ſtill? Call you this ſtory (of yours) of that Cathedrals courſe uſage, Newes? No ſuch matter, friend: 'tis but the ſecond part of ſuch Reformation-Newes from thence. The Reformation I wis, of that Cathedrall by ſome friends of yours, begun (you know, and I feare the ſtreets of Aſcalon ring of it ere this time, how much more every corner of the Kingdome: D. Pask to the Earl of Holland, in Auguſt, 1642. ) well neere two years ſince, the true ſtory whereof recorded in a Letter written to a noble Lord from a worthy member of that Society (however ſcorn'd and ſlander'd by your paultrie pen, whilſt you are not worthy to wipe his ſhooes) poſterity cannot read, without a due mixture of wonderment, and deteſtation; deteſting the action, whileſt they wonder not ſo much (perhaps) at the actors as at the age they liv'd in, crying out with the Poet, O tempora! O mores!

Well,What. but the Canterburian Cathedrall (for ſo he adds) is in an Abbey-like, corrupt, and rotten condition &c. What meane you, friend? the materiall ſtructure, the Fabrick? If ſo, 'tis true enough. Abbeyes indeed ever ſince their deſerved demolition and downfall, have been in ſuch a corrupt and rotten condition, a neglected prey to winds and weather; and to the like doth that Cathedrall tend apace, thanks to you and your fellowes Orderly Reformation, whereby it is expoſed to the injurie of all weathers, by removing its wonted glazen ſhelter of a ſtrange thickneſſe, inſomuch as, what with the Raine ſomtimes, with Snow another while, getting in at the broken windowes in great abundance, corruption and rottenneſſe have begun to ſeize on the walls. And for the Floore, in what a ſtrange uncouth pickle it was, all the ChurchThe warme and well-ſeated Sermonhouſe it ſelfe (pag. 2.) not excepted. over, with the great Snow the laſt winter, and both before and ſince with the raine, is too well knowne (I wiſh it were not) both to ſtrangers and domeſticks: the ſtory whereof (of that Orderly Reformation, I meane) is not now to write, though this be no time for truth, and true ſtories of this kind to ſhew themſelves. Veritas odium parit.

But we miſtake the man. This is no part of his meaning. Strange news, and why. 'Tis the Politicall not the materiall condition of the Cathedrall he intends, the Conſtitution of the Society there. And is that your meaning, friend? Why then you tell us newes indeed, and very ſtrange newes too; ſuch as your fardell of arguments, à ſolis particularibus, à merè perſonalibus, ſhall never beare you out in. What? do you think to argue down a Society, a Corporation. a Colledge, a Company, from the perſonall faults, abuſes, corruptions, failings of ſome one or more particular members, and ſome of them, if true, not their own neither, but their wives, or their ſervants? What Society then of any kind ſhall ever ſtand? What Function not miſcarrie? Shall we have no more Miniſters, no more Magiſtrates, becauſe of each ſort ſome have beene Delinquents? Doughty Logick! Or, to argue ad hominem: There have been rakehellie boyes ſomtimes at the Canterburian Free-Schoole, and ſuch, that, for an offence of an high nature, being threatned with due correction, have taken Sanctuary in aA ſhrewd ſigne of a bad cauſe; for Veritas non quaerit angu • os. Bench-hole, &c. The ſame, or ſome other, when afterwards tranſlated to the Vniverſitie, have played as bad or worſe pranks there, ſuch indeed as have coſt their authors an expulſion; doth it follow hence (good Richard) by any good conſequence in Logick, that either the Schoole or Vniverſity muſt down for this?

But to the Newes, Stranger yet. the corrupt conſtitution of the Canterburian Cathedrall. What ſtrange newes is here? This verily is novum & inauditum. No ſober, no well-adviſed Proteſtant, before theſe times, ever ſaid it. Paſſe you ſhall, for me, for the firſt that ever brought ſuch tidings to the eares of any true ſonne of the Church of England, ſince the Reformation of that, and the like places, by Hen. 8. In former time indeed it might, it did deſerve the terme, and therefore in an happy houre the hand of providence ſent a remedy, changing it from (what you call it) a neſt of idolatrous, proud, lazie, covetous Monks, into a Colledge of learned and religious Labourers in Gods Harveſt, yeelding, from time to time, ſuch numbers of worthy Divines, and of excellent parts, ſome in preaching, others in writing, Champions of ſuch value, both (thoſe with the tongue, theſe with the pen) againſt thoſe Samſonian Foxes (Rome and Amſterdam) as are, or ought to be, of precious memory in all the Churches of the Saints, both at home and abroad. Be ingenuous, friend, if you can, and tell me in ſober ſadneſſe,The Canterburian Cathedrall fruitfull of famous men. what thinke you of that bleſſed Martyr Ridley, your own terme, and he deſerves it) of M. Beacon, D. Bale, D. Whitaker, D. Saravia, M. Iſaac Caſaubon, D. Boys, D. Clerke, M. Wilſon, to ſay nothing of Du Moulin, the famous French Divine, and others haply as deſerving of the moderne Society? Theſe and many more ſuch like, are knowne (one and all) to have been in their times ſucceſſors of thoſe unworthy Monks in this very Cathedrall: but can you in cold blood, put on that more then brazen impudence, as to averre their imitation of them in practice at the ſame inſtant too when your ſelfe (a burning and ſhining light) are in election to be of the Society? you may if you pleaſe; nay what do you leſſe? when in plaine termes you tell us, that theſe prelaticall ſucceſſors of the idolatrous, proud, lazy, covetous Monks, as they ſucceded them in place, ſo they followed them in practice: and in a ſcurrilous, ſcandalous, baſe character, call the Society (the Cathedrall Corporation,) A neſt of Non-Reſidents; an Epicurean Colledge of riot and voluptuouſneſſe; a Schoole for complement in Religion, but a ſcourge upon the life and practice thereof; A refuge for ſuperſtition, but the bane of true piety; The ſhame of the Clergy, and the ſcorne of the Laity: with many other expreſſions of that prodigious nature, Pag. 4, 13, 16, 20. &c. both in your Epiſtle, and ſeverall other parts of your Pamphlet, ſuch as Lucian himſelfe would ſcarcely own. Hence let the indifferent Reader judge, and tell me, if we are not like to have a goodly ſuperſtructure, a precious ſtory, when the foundation is laid in Lies, in Slanders; of ſuch a latitude, of ſuch an influence and reflexion. What others may conceive of it I know not, but I am perſwaded that the Papiſts, the Jeſuits, with the whole rabble of Sectaries, will make great advantage of it againſt us, not knowing what better ſport to wiſh for, then to ſee us ſpit venome, caſt dirt in the faces of their greateſt Antagoniſts, and our chiefeſt Champions, the Chariots and the Horſmen of our Iſrael, the great and glorious Aſſertors of the True Reformed Proteſtant Religion.

But that which followes in the Title, Miraculous Newes. though not of ſo great concernment, yet is more ſtrange ſtill; The Archbiſhop of Canterburies Paſſing-bell rung miraculouſly in that Cathedrall. Here I would aske him; if he have this by his owne obſervation, or by (others) information. It ſeems from neither: for ſaving here only in the Title, we heare nothing at all of it in the whole enſuing diſcourſe. And here obſerve we a fallacy of his: A Fallacy. I have the enſuing Hiſtory (quoth he, in his Epiſtle) for the moſt part of mine own obſervation, and I have been punctuall (ſee here the Maſter-he of all) in examining the truth of what I have by information: but he placeth this paſſage, this news (of the Paſſing-bell) in the Front, before the Epiſtle, and ſo will avoid an ingagement to make it good either way, namely, by Obſervation of his owne, or Information from others. And conſequently, what have we more then his bare word for it? Ipſe dixit. And this no doubt, (out of an over-weening magiſteriall confidence given to the Tribe, priding themſelves in a conceit of their arrivall of that height of credit in the world, that all they ſay ſhall eo ipſo be belieft) he thought would be ſufficient; expecting (it ſeems) ſuch a beliefe here, as (out of an implicite faith) is uſually afforded of the ſuperſtitious Lay-Prieſt, eſpecially the Spaniard, to what his Father-Confeſſor avoucheth for truth, Well, whileſt he expects what he pleaſeth, ſay (Reader) is not there more Gate then City? more of promiſe then performance? What, friend! promiſe a miracle in the Title, and prove it a lying wonder, or a wondrous lie, by a ſilent paſſing it over in the worke it ſelfe? Bad wine ſurely, where there is ſo much buſh.

But from the Title, to the Author, the Hiſtorian; The Newes-monger. and who's that now? Why, no Anonymus, no nameleſſe Libeller, no creeper into a Bench-hole, as one of his name once was, whence he was ferretted out at laſt, tanquam acusè ſpeluncâ, and fetch'd downe on his knees with a Miſerere mei Domine! you have his name, and with it his Title, degree, and place of abode in words at length, and not in figures: 'tis (Sir Reverence) Richard Culmer, Miniſter of Gods word, dwelling in Canterbury; heretofore of Magdalen Colledge in Cambridge, Maſter of Arts. And what is Dick Culmer turn'd Mercury now? Mercurius Cathedralis? Mercurius Antipraelaticus? 'twas wont to be ſaid: Ex omni ligno non ſit Mercurius. As for Dick Culmer, he is well knowne in thoſe parts he ſpeaks of for a ſturdy, ſtout, rugged K—a man of his hands, and an able trencher-man beſides, in Cambridge, famous for foot-ball and ſwimming: Otherwiſe infamous enough: Qualis Gramaticus, talis Academicus, ſemper idem, no verſipellis. but who ever thought him cut out for a Mercury before? as being for thoſe abilities he hath, Marti aptior quam Mercurio, fitter for to ſerve Mars then the Muſes, & Harae quam Arae, the Hogs then the Gods, better at fighting then inditing. But this is not his firſt eſſay at the Mercury: if you would know when he firſt ſat up, it was about Chriſtmas laſt, when he tooke and ſent up in writing to a brother Mercury (as he is communicative) a learned Legend (for the quantity as full of Lies as his) of the tryall and execution of a notable Malefactor and Countryman and name-ſake, Doct. Dick: a faire beginning was it not? to date his firſt eſſayes from the Gallows. But ſee the mans popular itch? O, pulchrum eſt digito monſtrari & dicier hic eſt. The Gallowes, and a poore baſe fellon ſhall bee his theam, rather then faile of publicke notice. A Jove, no; A cruce principium, 'tis with him, and much good doo't thee Dick, proceed and proſper.

Alpha tuum quale eſt Omega ſit que tuum.

Leaving his name,His-Colledge, and demeanor there. proceed we to his title: heretofore of Magdalen Colledge, &c. Since hs is pleaſed to provoke me with the mention of his Colledge, I cannot chooſe but minde him, and acquaint the Reader with a ſtory of one of his name, ſometime of that Colledge: the ſame that borrowed (as you heard erewhile) in a bench-hole, thence called to this day, Culmeri Latibulum; the ſame that at another time let himſelf down Tanet cliffes by a rope faſtened about his fathers Cowes hornes feeding by the place, to ſeek for Dawes neſts (an adventure that hath hardened him ever ſince againſt all feare of harme by the rope:) 'twas (they ſay) a red hair'd, freckle fac'd fellow, Judas nown complexion, but no matter for that, caeteris imparibus: we uſe indeed to ſay that Vultus indicat animum, the index of the minde is the maws countenance, but we will anſwer that with a Froute nulla fides, 'tis uncertaine aime that is taken by the countenance, the fureſt is the converſation. But to my Story: This Collegian getting him a bag (Iudas bare the bag) for the mending his commons with boyl'd, butter'd wheat, made it his common practice about harveſt time to plunder for wheat in ſome neighbouring fields. The owner obſerving day after day that his corne was ſtolne, but ignorant how or by whom, watch'd it one day, and tooke the thiefe damage feaſant; but let him firſt fill his bag, and then dogging him home to his burrow, the Colledge, made his complaint of him to his Maſter, who by the notoriety of the fact finding him guilty, had him forth with into the Buttery, gat rods ready for his correction, lock'd the doore to them to prevent his eſcape, ſo that in liklihood here was no way but one with poore Dick, to pot he muſt; and yet he muſt not, at leaſt he will not, if all the deſperate wit he can ſummon up will ſave him. Inſt then as he ſhould goe too't,Scelue ſcelerae tulum. he breaks looſe from the Maſter and Butler both, gets him to the barrells, whereof there were divers then abroach, pulls out the ſpickets one after another, and whiles the Maſter and Butler, for ſaving the beere, buſily beſtirr'd themſelves to ſtop theſe leaks, the key unhapily being left ſtanding in the buttery doore, the fellow turnes it, and ſo eſcaped out of the buttery and Colledge both, whither (as ſome ſay) he never returned more, being immediatly, according to his juſt demerit, ſhamefully expelled. And (if our Richard be the man) whatever pride he may take in challenging that Colledge for his nurſe, or that Univerſity for his mother, neither of them doubtleſſe can reap much comfort or credit by acknowledging him for their ſon.

My reaſons, if you aske them, beſides what are premiſed, you may collect from the following character and deſcription of the man,His vertves. reſulting from a poſie of ſome of thoſe rare vertues wherewith he is accompliſhed, by which he is knowne at home, and for which he deſerves to be no leſſe famous abroad then that notable paire of his predeceſſors Bale and Martin, (the one a ſeditious Prieſt in Richard the ſeconds dayes, the other a ſcurrilous Libeller in Queen Elizabeths) or any other enemy of Imparity in Church or State, ever were in former times. Herein you may expect me, and be ſure (to the beſt of my intelligence) ſhall find me, as farre from ſlander, as himſelfe from truth in moſt of the indigeſted ſtories he relates in that confuſed Chaos of his Mercurian Eſſay.

The marks of the beaſt are theſe: 1. Refractorineſſe. 2. Impudence. 3. Covetouſneſſe. 4. Hypocriſie. 5. Clamourouſneſſe. 6. Ʋnnaturalneſſe. 7. Maliciouſneſſe. 8. Doltiſhneſſe. 9. Lying.

And under theſe heads, as you ſhall have the mans life, (which 'twere pitty a man of his part ſhould want, and which added to his worke, as the laudable manner is, when the authot's dead, as this man either is, or ought to be, might the gallows have its due, would much helpe to vent their thouſands:) ſo likewiſe a ſufficient anſwer to moſt of his accuſations of value, his groſſe Lies eſpecially, legible enough in every page and paſſage almoſt of that falſe Legend.

To begin then with the firſt, 7. Refractorineſſe. his Refractorineſſe. Being born to few naturall parts, and bred to leſſe learning, and conſequently wanting what might render him and his ſociety acceptable and gracefull to men of parts and worth, he betooke himſelfe upon his firſt flight from the Univerſity, to vulgar aſſociation, conſorting and keeping company and correſpondence with none, (except ſometime by intruſion) but the Ignobile mobile vulgus, the vulgar ſpirited rabble,Charron. a ſort of people naturally given to contemne their governours and ſuperiors, and to quarrell with the preſent State; (Turba gravis paci, plaoidaeque inimica quieti.)

Wherein they wanted not for that encouragement which either his doctrine or example could contribute. The particulars whereof are ſo notorious with his Countrimen, as ſpecification will be needleſſe; nay I could not pleaſe him and his tribe better then to enlarge with inſtances, Irregularity and Inconformity to the preſent government (the fruits of Refractorineſſe paſſing in their account for ſuch rare vertues as they pride themſelves in nothing more in theſe times. I ſhall therefore harpe no longer on that ſtring, leſt I make him and his fellowes too much muſick, who love ſo little of what is good. Proceed we then to another: for Quiſnam hominum eſt quem tu contentum vider is uno Flagitio? —

Impudence is his next marke. 2. Impudence. Having a competency of a naturall audacity, the man hath much improved it with uſe and cuſtome; having hereby arrived at ſuch an height of habituall hardneſſe, as he is become audax ad omne facinus. What action though of any modeſt ſober man declined comes aniſſe to him? As he is a great Athenian, 3. Inſtance. extreamly given to heare and tell, to take in and let out news, what report favouring his party, how falſe ſoever, will not he ſpread? you ſhall have him (and 'tis his vaine from one end of the week unto the other) like the News-cryes of London, or as it were ſome Equus meritorius, or the Cities of Veredarius, to hackney up and downe all the Towne with a piece of news that he likes, obtruding it upon his cuſtomers with that earneſtneſſe, and backing it with ſuch aſſeverations (as, beleeve it, Sir 'tis moſt true, I had it from a good hand, you may report it for a certain, and the like) that it would argue want of ingenuity at leaſt, in any that ſhould offer to diſtruſt it. When all this while, moſt an end, 'tis nothing ſo, but enjus contrarium, &c. a little time having given the lye to all this confidence, and that not ſeldome, now and then by chance, but ordinarily and of courſe; whereof there is at length that notice taken by the moſt, that obſervation made of his Impudence in this kinde, that tell them but of an unlikely, improbable, unexpected, ſtrange occurrence, and you ſhall be anſwered ſtreightway with a Proverb: θ, this is Culmers news. A Provtrbe. Such great ſtrangers uſually are truth and his reports each to other, and ſuch a brand of Impudence hath this habit of Lying deſervedly caſt upon him. From generalls, to deſcend to ſome particulars.

Was it not a prerty peece of ſhameleſſe Impudence to averre (as he did) to a Committee of Parliament (when the Burgeſſes of the place were by) that the Screen, 2. Inſtance. the Partition built ath wart the Quire of Chriſt-Church, to which the Communion Table ſtands, as formerly the high Altar did, which Screen he labours to demoliſh, did joyne ſometime to (rebellious) Beckets ſhrine; and when the Burgeſſes gainſaid him, to perſiſt and ſtand in it? though himſelfe, as well as they, knew that Shrine and Screen never ſtood neare each other by divers rods.

What a ſtrange peece of Impudence was that for him, firſt to report, 3. Inſtance. as from the Committee of Parliament for Church-matters, or ſome prime member of it, that no jot of painted glaſſe muſt be left ſtanding in this Cathedrall: and when the thing was afterwards diſclaimed, as never ſaid by thoſe he vouched for it, to deny that ever he reported any ſuch thing? what playing Faſt and Looſe is here? but qui ſemel verecundiae limites tranſierit, oportet ut graviter ſit impudens.

How ſhould he be aſhamed to charge the Quire-men (as hee doth in the petition, 4. Inſtance. a witty pithy peece of his owne noddles invention) with hudling over (what of late he loves ſo dearly) the Common Prayer? when he knowes, and ſo doe many more that he was as guilty of the ſame himſelfe, as any Quire-man of them all. when Curate of Goodneſtone, uſing in the afternoons to be ſo quick to begin, and ſo nimble to turne over Evening prayer, upon pretence of a long way home:Going ſeven nules to ſucke a Bull; a proverb well underſtood in thoſe parts. (by the way note his Non-reſidence, and his but one Sermon a day, a couple of the very neglects wherewith he taxeth the Cathedraliſts) that he had done many times before the people making to Church at two of the clocke (the accuſtomed houre) were come together, and yet threatning ſome that thereupon left his Church with the Commiſſaries Court. Turpe eſt doctori cum culpà redarguit ipſum.

Was it not an impudent part in him, 5. Inſtance. to poſſeſſe the Parliament with the truth of what he hath fardell'd up in thoſe foule ſheets, ſo as to get them licenced to paſſe and come abroad by their priviledge and under their protection: when he is conſcious to himſelfe, and 'tis well enough knowne to his Countrymen, that never man abus'd the Parliament with ſuch a miſcellany, ſuch a hotchpot of falſhood, malice and ſlander, as by this paſquill he hath done? But of his printed Impudence more hereafter, when, by occaſion of his Newes, we ſhall take him to doe for his Lying. Thus then for his words, Qualis homo, talis ſermo.

As for his Actions, 6. Inſtance. who ever put fairer then himſelfe for vivality in fame with infamous Horoſtratus (that, to get him a name, ſet fire of Dian's temple) to his ſurpaſſing Impudence in the whole acting of this Cathedralls late ſhamefull rifling, in order, I wis, to its through reforming? who but he had the Impudence to threſh and claſh downe the windows, in that promiſcuous manner without any diſtinction of Kings from Saints, of military-men from martyrs, ſo contrary to his Commiſſion, the Ordinance of Parliament? for that end with an over daring boldneſſe, (by his owne confeſſion) climbing ladders of no common height (a ſhorter one may ſerve his turne another day) no more ſcornfull then himſelfe (ſcoffing Lucianlike) in termes concerning our Saviour, and his Apoſtles figures at their pulling downe? who forwarder then he ſhamefully to violate the ſepulchres and monuments of the dead? who ſo ready as himſelfe to flye in their faces, that expreſſed but the leaſt diſlike of his or his fellows wilde demeanour in that (for the manner at leaſt) ſcandalous and diſtaſtefull action,Note. yea and bloody too, witneſſe that ſad occaſion given to a poore boy to keep it in mind, by the loſſe of a couple of his fingers cut quite off, by the violent throwing to of an iron doore, by ſome of the more furious inſtruments in that orderly Reformation? who but he made that place his Refectory, his dining roome, the place of his repaſt at that time? being ſo ſedulous, hot and intent upon the worke, that to loſe no time in following it, he tooke his bottle and bag with him to victuall himſelf upon the place. If all this amount not to impudence, as perhaps with too many judges in theſe dayes it will not, I ſhall tell you now of Impudence with a witneſſe, and I terme it ſo, becauſe I have it from an eye-witneſſe of good credit, that, not without juſt ſcandall, ſaw the deed done, and will be ready, if lawfully required, to atteſt and juſtifie the report with his corporall oath. 7. Inſtance. What doe you thinke then of piſſing in the open Church, and at noon-day, in publicke view? what the heathens of old thought of ſuch Impudence, their Poets will tell us, whereof one, thus: Pinge duos angues, pueri, ſacer eſt locus,Perſ. ſat. 1. extra Mejite— And another, thus: Nec ſitis apparet cur verſus factitet, Horace. De arte Poet. verſus finem. ut cum Minxerit in patrios cineres —

Now though we have no mention of this occurrence in his News, in the ſtory of the orderly Reformation, (ſo much of modeſty he hath left yet:) nevertheleſſe Ecce homo: we uſe to ſay ſometimes Mutato nomine, &c. but here it needs not, for this is he, I ſay not the man, but 'tis the beaſt, the prodigy, that did the deed in the body of that Cathedrall; the firſt eſſay I thinke that ever was knowne to the converting it to (what his black mouth doth not ſticke to call it) an Augean ſtable. VVhat Chriſtians heart abominates not this unheard of, prophane, lewd impudence, and riſeth not in deteſtation both of it and the author? what? the Temple, Gods houſe, the place where his honour dwells, the gate of heaven, the houſe of prayer, a place to play the beaſt and piſſe in, for any, eſpecially a Miniſter? Away prophane, unhallowed, impudent wretch, away I by juſt demerit, if ever any, the ſhame of the Clergy, and the ſcorne of the Laity. Nor Satyrs, nor ſcourges can ſerve, Scorpions are fitter to chaſtiſe and expiate thy prodigious impudence.

—Abſciſſa viritia vellem Prodneus ſobolem ne generando parem.

Call you this orderly reformation? Is this a peece of that reformation which the Abby like, corrupt and rotten condition of that Cathedrall calls for? For ſhame, beaſt, recant, repent; till when bee ſure thou gett'ſt no other eſteem with me (whiles what others thinke of thee J paſſe not for) then of a peece of obſtinate, obdurate, deſperate Impudence.

To proceed in our charge, Covetouſneſſe is his next marke.3. Covetouſnes. 1 Tim. 6.10. Col 3.5. But is he covetouſly given then? why, covetouſneſſe is the root of all evill; nay it is Idolatry. And hath the wretch beſtowed ſo much paines, ſpent ſo much time in purging away the numerous Idols, and ſweeping them out of this Cathedrall, in clenſing that Augean ſtable (tis the language of the beaſt) yet is he himſelfe an Idol-ſhepheard? VVhileſt he preaches to others, is himſelfe likely to prove a caſtaway? Doth he preach downe, pull downe reputed, ſuppoſed Idols? and is he himſelfe the whileſt a reall Idolater? The Major is cleare by the Scripture, the Minor will be eaſily made good. To leave the ſtory of his griping uſury to be told by his friend, Richard Piſing, and ſome others, [who can tell you of his groſſe oppreſſion; particularly, how that letting out money (100 l) upon an annuity of 10 l per annum, for the intereſt, aſſured to him out of the debtors Lands, and that for certaine tearme of yeeres, he refuſeth to take in the money, but will runne out the time.] what thinke you of him (if I may aske the queſtion) that having a viſible faire eſtate, a liberall fortune, being worth, ſuppoſe a thouſand or two thouſand pounds, or more, as ſome, to whom his eſtate is not unknowne, avouch, which he daily improoves, by the thriftieſt, if not wretchedſt courſes he can take, and yet ſhall beguile and couſen his own ſiſters of their portions? ſhall goe whining up and downe, juſt like a mendicant Friar, and pleade poverty and want of meanes, [witneſſe the many viſits hee uſed to beſtow upon his poore neighbours, (when hee dwelt amongſt them) at Herbaldown, to borrow a few pence to buy himſelf and family bread, one of thoſe trickes whereby hee wound himſelfe ſo farre into the compaſſion of a neighbouring rich Matron, that in commiſeration of his hence conceived penury, ſhe made him her conſtant Almeſman while ſhe lived, and her Executor when ſhe died.] ſhall betake himſelfe to by, indirect, and unwonted, unwarranted wayes for further improvement of his fortunes, ſeeking (againſt the Law of Nature and common Humanity; for Nemo debet locupletari cum aliend jacturd:) to enrich himſelfe by other mens ruines: ſhall (becauſe his deſert before theſe times could never procure him any Benefice of his owne) take advantage of the preſent opportunities to diſpoſſeſſe another man of his, flying ſometimes at this, another while at that, and ſtill you muſt note (like his fellowes, followers of the ſame game with him) at the faireſt Livings in all the Country: You know, SirChartham. Ick ham. who is true and legall Vicar of Minſter in the Iſſe of Tanet, (a man of unqueſtionable worth in any but ſuch times as theſe, wherein the beſt accompliſhments of learning and vertue, if at leaſt rewarded upon a man by former times with any ſutable preferment, are all too little for his protection from ſuch envious eyes, ſnarling tongues, and undermining braines as yours, had he not all the uprighter Judges) you know, I ſay, who is Vicar there at preſent, and I know and many more with me, whoſe covetouſneſſe prompts him, by malicious aſperſions and falſe ſuggeſtions, by indefatigable, importunate, implacable machinations, and ſolicitations againſt him, to eject and ſupplant him: wee know who's the Vicar would be. 'Tis (he ſhall be nameleſſe) Dicke Culmer, Miniſter of Gods Word, dwelling in Cantorbury, heertofore of Magdalen Colledge in Cambridge, Maſter of Arts. And can you blame him? O! 'tis a benefice like the Iſland, pleaſant and fruitfull. By the way note, that 'tis the oyle of the full revenewes of that Vicarage that the covets,Note. bearing little or no affection to the Flocke, but to the Fleece. And no marvell: for were the proportion of his love ſmaller, yet 'tis as much as hee's like to have returned him from thence, his good conditions being ſo well knowne, by long experience of that diſcerning people, his Countrymen (however courted of him in that Encomium both of them and their Iſland) that, not deſirous of ſuch a change, they have agreed to deprecate and obſtruct his comming thither, having framed a Petition to the Parliament to that purpoſe, under moſt, if not all their hands. In the interim hee ſtayes his covetous appetitc, (as well as he can) with a morſell neerer home worth ſome 120 l per annum, or better, the Vicaredge of S. Stephens neere the City, whence by trickes and indirect practices, getting the proper Miniſter (onc of thoſe whom pag. 11 he miſreports for Malignant Cathedral preaching, a man of choice parts, and well beloved) to be put by, he hath intruded into his place, and thruſt in his ſickle there, though with as little ſucceſſe in point of acceptation with the people, as hee is like to finde at Minſter, if ever his project or getting thither take effect, which when it happens, wee'll all cry out with the Poet, Mopſo Niſa datur; quid non ſupremus? Theſe are pretty checkes (one would thinke) to his covetous eſſayes, if the eyes of his minde were not obſtinately ſhut againſt them, of whoſe opening till I ſee ſome fruits, how can I chuſe, but from the premiſſes, condemne the man of Covetouſneſſe?

His next marke is Hypocriſie, • Hypocriſie. whereof in a word: The diſſembling his eſtate by dayly pleas of poverty and want of meanes; his furious ſhewes of zeale to Babylons downefall, Babels erection rather, his forward bold attempts for the extirpation of ſuperſtition and idolatry,Nobilis Ecclaeſia cathedralis Hereſordenſis; nobilor Wintonienſis nobiliſſima Contuarienſis. Mat. Paris. Ann. 1254. by his laying ſo much about him in the late diſanulling one of the faireſt Cathedralls of Chriſtendome; his ſeeming good affection to and compliance with the Parliament and Parliamentary cauſe and wayes, his courting and countenancing the common peoples humour, in their late Anarchicall practiſes: when all the world may ſee that all is done, Impoſtor like, meerely for private ends, and to ſerve his own turne, meerely to ingratiate and indeere himſelfe with the Parliament and people, meerely as a bait, a net layd to catch the times applauſe, meerely in ordine ad ſpiritualia, as a way, a courſe that may bring him at length to that ſpirituall preferment attended with temporall profit, his ambitious covetous mind too apparantly aſpires unto: whence can theſe proceed but from an heart full of baſe hypocriſie? Can any tree beare ſuch fruits as that? Can you not run and read his hypocriſie?

As for his Clamorouſneſſe, 5. Clamorousneſſe. beſides what arguments and evidences we have of it in Print, it hath alwayes beene his vain (for want of ſome of that Comeat-Phyſicke, which pag. 23. hee preſcribes and gives to others to cure them of the clamorous evill) to mouth his owne grievances, though (for the moſt part) but pretended and imaginary, with ſo much uoyſe and clamour in all companies, as if his ſufferings, when eyther ſmall or none at all, (making Mountaines of Molehills) were tranſcendent beyond all paterne, above all patience, for eaſier audience and acceſſe ſake, ever pleading wife and children, and a great charge, to the conſening of many, though not over credulous, into a firm belief of 〈…〉 and poore condition. Yet as clamorous as he 〈…〉 , to others clamours none more deafe-eard then 〈◊〉 witneſſe (for a taſte) the dance he led a gentle woman 〈…〉 , comming to demand ſome dues of him, and not ſo 〈…〉 to be turned off with frivolous excuſes, from his Houſe 〈…〉 all the Towne, as farre as the Blean, and then (to be rid 〈◊〉 ) ſhewing her a payre of heeles, who would not bee ſhal ••• off untill ſhe ſaw the Fox burrowed in a thicke wood.

Et cum clamaret (quo nunc te proripis?) illae Redde, Ricarde, meam, Tu poſt virgulta latchat.

But whileſt ſome are contented with this ſummary, me thinks I heare others call for a large narrative of this rare ſtory: for whoſe ſatisfaction I will over it again more punctuall and fully. A ſuit in Law then depending between our righteous Richard, and one Mr. B. and that being,The Fox hunted. by conſent of both parties referred to certaine friends for arbitration, who awarded him to pay her a certain ſumme of money; the Gentlewoman, with her brother and his wife, comes one day to his houſe in Margarets Pariſh, Canterbury, to make demand (in hope to receive) the a warded ſumme, and finding him at home, makes knowne her arrand to him. The man (like himſelfe) preſently fell to making excuſes, pretending that he was but newly returned from a journey, had ſpeedily another to take, and in the interim he was buſie at his ſtudy, being to preach the next Lords day which was at hand, and therefore he could not now intend them. But the other Gentlewoman (one of a more maſculine ſpirit then her ſiſter, and fitter therefore to encounter ſuch a baffler) well knowing the mans conditions, replied,Or that they had a great occaſion for the money, that he knew well enough it was their due, and he was much miſtaken if he thought they would be ſo put off; for as they came for money, ſo money they muſt have, nor would they leave him till they had it. And for his preparing to preach, it was, they knew, a meere put off, for they had not forgotten the time when he could brag what an eaſie matter it was to him to make a Sermon; he could ride and ſtudy, and was able to make a Sermon on horſe-backe; and therefore they were aſſured it was no ſuch hard matter with him now to preach, as that he ſhould offer that for an excuſe, and if that were all, he muſt not thinke they would be anſwered ſo. The man perceiving their reſolutions not to depart without money, and being as reſolutely bent of his part to part with none, calls in all haſte to his wife for cleane band and cuffes, as if indeed he had intended a journey, which being brought him, and that not ſerving to rid them away, he takes his cloake,Culmers progreſſe, and out of doores he flings, thinking to get looſe of them; but it would not be: for after their Gentleman uſher they all trudge, with repeated lewd demands of their money, who regardleſſe of their cloſe purſute and clamours carries them on from ſtreet to ſtreet, meaſuring out one ſtreet after another, with ſuch large ſtrides and lanching ſteps as that by what time he was gotten to VVeſtgate-ſtreet or thereabouts, Mrs. B. and her brother (a fat burley man) were ſo farre caſt behinde,Or and ſo outſtripp'd of their mannerly Gentleman-uſher, that they even gave out, and left him to be purſued alone by the other Gentlewoman, who indeed ſtoutly held it out, and followed him ſo cloſe, (mending her pace when he mended his) that he could hardly gaine ground of her. On then goes Dick, and up to St. Thomas-hill he makes,The K— driven and ſo towards Chriſt-Church wood, a good breathing you may thinke for a Gentlewoman, being nere two miles from Culmers houſe, whence they firſt fat out: whiles he leads her through the ſtreets, his pace was ſomewhat tolerable, and 'twas his wiſeſt way, for otherwiſe ſhe was reſolv'd to have made her outcries after him, that all the ſtreets might ring of the occaſion.Out of Town But being once gotten out of Towne, and ſo out of that danger, he made bold to runne other while, thinking ſo at laſt to caſt her off: but 'twould not ſerve his turne, for being a nimble fat woman, (it ſeems) ſhe held well with him at all paces, chattering at him all the way for the money, that all they met tooke notice of it. At length being about to take the wood, he faces about, and as once or twice before offers a parley, and asks her what ſhe meant to purſue him in that manner; ſhe gives him no other anſwer then before, that goe whither he would ſhee was reſolv'd to follow, and would never leave him till ſhe had (what ſhe came for) her ſiſters money. Finding her ſtill harping on that ſtring, and being deafe of that eare, on againe goes he, threatning to ſhew her a courſe, if ſhe would not be gone and leave him: why but (quoth ſhe) you will not, I trow, be ſouncivill, having train'd out a Gentlewoman thus far, but you will ſee her home: whereupon he bends his courſe ſtraightway towards the houſe where he knew herſelfe and ſiſter dwelt, and when he had thus uſher'd her within or neare the ſight of the houſe, he gathers up his cloake about him, and with all the ſpeed he could, makes to the ſide of a rough thicket, hard of acceſſe, eſpecially for a Gentlewoman encumbred with long coats, and ſilken withall, apt to be torne with buſhes and bryars, and in there he ruſhes which when ſhe perceived, bethinking herſelfe of the difficulty of a further purſuite, ſhe gives it over with this farewell to her game: Nay now I ſee the Fox is burrowed; e'ne goe thy wayes then, and be hang'd, for Ile follow thee no further. And ſo you have the ſtory.

Paſſing from whence, let's have at him for his Ʋnnaturalneſſe, 6. Vnnaturalneſſe. which indeed is ſo notorious and groſſe, as no heathen almoſt but would bluſh to be ſo juſtly taxed for the like. It is a ſaying as true as trite: Ingratum ſi dixer is omnia dixeris. Nothing can bee added to aggravate that mans crime that is once juſtly taxed of Ʋnthankfulneſſe. And can any unthankfulneſſe equalize (not to dreame of tranſcending) that of a childe to a parent? and wherein is or can that be better tried, then when need, eſpecially if accompanied with old age, hath rendred the unfortunate parent a fitting object of his childs reliefe? and ſuch a one is old Culmer, the Hiſtorians father, a poore aged man, and in point of providence to blame in nothing more, then for too ſoon parting with what eſtate he ſometime had to this unnaturall ſome of his, who now, in requitall, ſo much neglects him (not for want of ability, but will to ſuccour him) as the whole Iland where he lives rings of the Impiety, whileſt the Monſter never ſeeks to lay the clamour, values it not, weighed with the ſaving of his money, being ready to take up that of the Poet: — Quid enim ſalvi infamia nummis? No marvell that he proves ſuch a rebellious ſonne to the Church, his mother, that is ſo unnaturall a childe to the poore aged man, his father.

As for his Maliciouſneſſe. 7. Maliciouſneſſe. Not to inſiſt on his continuall ſuits in Law, being indeed a notable Vitiligator, & legis quam Evangelii peritior, a better Lawyer then Divine; I will trouble you but with one inſtance of it, which concernes a Gentleman of birth and credit, brought in queſtion for his life by the treacherous malice of this grand impoſtor, who with open mouth, and all poſſible aggravation, accuſed him to the Councell-Table of treaſonable ſpeeches,Recited verbatim at the end of this Treatiſe, and purpoſely referred thither, becauſe too t • dinus for this place. occaſioned by ſome diſcourſe betweene them about eight or nine years ſince concerning the Ship-ſeſſes and Impoſitions of thoſe times, in ſaying (as the very words of the impeachment, under his owne hand runne) that, if we have ſuch taxes laid upon us, we muſt rebell, or we muſt be faine to rebell, or to this effect. And the better to curry favour, and purchaſe the more credit to his indictment, what ſincerity of duty doth not the counfeit profeſſe therein to God, and his Sovereigne Lord King Charles? for whom (ſaith he) I pray from the bottome of my heart (a hollow heart ſure,Dick Culmer a Royaliſt. without bottome (that the Lord would preſerve him from Dick Culmer, and his fellows, a ſort of) ſeditious and rebellious men: with many other overtures of loyalty, ſeconded with other of the ſame ſtamp) in a letter of his (which I have ſeen) to a noble friend of the accuſed Gentleman, written ſhortly after: wherein what profeſſions he makes of the good liking he bare to the Service book, the catechiſticall part of it eſpecially, (his ſtedineſſe and care to continue conſtant to thoſe profeſſions being ſo eminent) I may not here, without wronging the man, paſſe over in ſilence: which are theſe: Yet did I (quoth he) clearly manifeſt my loyalty, in that I did ſo publickly take his Majeſties part, (loyall Richard I well fare thee) and in my Miniſtry I have ſhewed (full ſore,An Advocate for the Liturgy. I doubt, againſt thy will) the like care; a ſpeciall proofe whereof I ſhewed (till thou ſaweſt thy time) in my ſhort forme of Catechiſme, which I uſed many yeares (before their eyes were opened) and reſolve to uſe againe (till time beter ſerve thee to caſt it off) if it pleaſe God to reſtore mee to the exerciſe of my Miniſtery. Which forme beginneth thus: Now we have learn'd to ſay the Catechiſme, &c. let us ſee more fully the meaning &c. Queſt. What ſay you of our Catechiſm in the Booke of Common Prayer? Anſw. (Why, 'tis like the reſt of the Booke, Popiſh, Idolatrous, Superſtitious traſh, &c. no ſtay) The Catechiſme in our Booke of Common Prayer is good, and commanded by the Kings authority, Quanium mutatus ab illo! and therfore we ſhould all learn it, &c. (O thou limb of Antichriſt! what Prelat of them all could have ſaid more?) But ad rem. You have heard here of a heynous and capitall charge from a veſſell (of malice abſit! no) of Loyalty of Conformity, like to produce what? but the ruine of the accuſed, by the forfeiture both of his eſtate and life. A ſad tragedy towards doubtleſſe. And yet to ſee, no ſuch matter: for auditâ alterâ parte, when the accuſed came to his anſwer before as equall as honourable Iudges, he ſo fairly and fully purged himſelfe of his foul, but falſe crimination, as brought the buſineſſe to this iſſue, that the accuſed innocent Gentleman was abſolved, diſmiſſed, whileſt his malicious unjuſt accuſer was committed, impriſoned (a due reward for ſuch a Perillus, Nec enim lex juſtior ulla, Quam necis artifices arte perire ſua.) As by the enſuing tranſcript of the Order of the Councel-board in that buſineſſe will appear to the laſting ſhame and infamy of ſuch odious malice, heightned in this,A treacherous gueſt. that the place where theſe pretended dangerous words were uttered, was the accuſers own table in Chriſtmaſſe time. No marvell that a Noble man, (one of the Councell-board) thereupon let fall this wiſh or deprecation rather: From ſuch gueſts good Lord deliver me! Adde hereunto that they were concealed, and not complained of, till almoſt half a yeare after, in revenge too, for the Gentlemans being (as was pretended) a means to diſpoſſeſſe his accuſer of (what he mouths ſo much by the name of his Benefice) his Curatſhip, a little before his complaint preferred; which 'tis knowne he loſt for refuſing to read (what he hath ſince been heard to wiſh he had read) the booke of Liberty. But to the tranſcript taken from the very originall under ſeal. At Whitehall the 9 of Octob. 1635.

Preſent Lo. Archbiſhop of Canterbury his Grace. Lo. Keeper. Lo. Privy-ſeal. Earle Marſhall. Lo. Cottington, Mr. See. Wyndebanck.

Whereas upon an information given by R. C. Clerk againſt E. B. of B. in the County of Kent Gent. the ſaid E. B. was ſent for by warrant, Note. and bound to appeare and anſwer the ſame before their Lordſhip on Friday, the 9 of this preſent, this day both the ſaid parties having beene called and heard before the board: their Lordſhips finding the ſaid information and complaint againſt Mr. B. to have been cauſleſſe and unjuſt, did thinke fit and order, that he ſhould be forthwith diſcharged from any further attendance concerning the ſame, and that the bonds by him entred into for his appearance ſhould be delivered up unto him. Laſtly, that the ſaid R. C. ſhould, for ſuch his miſ-information and abuſe ſtand committed priſoner to the Fleet. The 12 Tables would have condemned him to death: Qui falſum teſtimonium dixiſſe convictus erit, ſaxo Tarpeio deſcitor. Ext. &c.

And now (Reader) what thinke you of his Maliciouſnes? I conceive you expect no further evidence. Leaving that then, let's try him next for his Doltiſhnes.

And for that, 8. Doltiſhneſſe. if he pleaſe, he ſhall have his booke, let him bee tried by that. VVhat judicious man having read the promiſing Title page (where he findes the author arrogating the Title and degree of a Maſter of Arts) looks over the booke, can refraine from a Scribimus indocti, doctique &c. of a Parturiunt montes &c. can conclude it to be other then a meere unworthy ridiculous peece, a pitifull poore, jejune, dry, dull, empty eſſay for a Maſter of Arts? Can he be thought other then a meere Ignoramus, a Duns, a Dullard, a Dolt, a Culmer that hath fardelled up a deale of bald, bold, baſe, virulent, ſcurrillous ſtuffe, as void of learning, as of truth, as void of method as full of malice, written ſurely with inke mixt and made of vinegar and kennell water,A foule pen. and fitter for nothing then the baſeſt of neceſſary uſes? what Maſter of Arts, but he would not be aſhamed of ſuch a blue come off? had he not great need to print his thouſands?

Quid dignum tanto tulit hic promiſſor hiatu?

But (here's the knack on't) 'tis fitted to the genius of (his old patrons) the vulgar, calculated to the meridian of their capacities: and if the people, the rabble, the multitude, reliſh, taſte, reſent it well, quoth Dick, why Hey then up goe we. If it pleaſe their palats, and take well with them, ſatis eſt ſuper que ; having never yet learn'd (it ſeems) that Principibus placuiſſe viris non ultima laus eſt.

But what ſaith he? Equiſonem quam equitem mihi plaudere cure. Thus expects he aurum è ſtercore, — •• e. like a meere dunghill craven. But though (by his own confeſſion) 'tis ſure working by the book; yet that's not all the evidence we have to prove his Duns ſhip. Aske about in the places of his greateſt concourſe, amongſt thoſe, if you will, that beſt affect him, and you ſhall never finde their reſpect, their affection towards him grounded upon any learning or Schollerlike parts that he is guilty of. 'Tis confeſſed of all hands, that he is a very meane, dry, dull preacher, a worſe diſputant, and for the pen, fit liber Inden, I appeale to his booke. What it is that hath commended him to their affection, and begat their eſteem of him is, his forwardneſſe to heare and carry newes, and to be active and dextrous in ſuch works of orderly reformation, as that whereof he bluſheth not to make his boaſt in that Lying Legend. As for any other matter worthy of note in him, they are all as great ſtrangers to it as himſelfe. But enough of that.

Now to his Lying. I have heard of a youth, one of his Tribe, 9 Lying. a bold, factious fellow, for Schollerſhip as errant a blockhead as himſelfe, for converſation (it may be) ſomwhat looſer, much taxed for a notorious Lyer, and ſo noted for it at the Vniverſity, that a common noted Lyer, by a new invented Proverb amongſt them, was nicknamed after him; how well he deſerved it, I partly know, but how our ſcribler, Dr. Dicke, deſerves the like, all the City, and parts adjacent, by long experience of his common, cuſtomary, habituall lying, know ſo well, that were it put to the vote there, whether or no a notorious Lyer ſhould be called a Culmeriſt, I dare warrant you it would be reſolved upon the queſtion, perquàm paucis contradicentibus, in the affirmative. Whence els our common Proverb of Culmers Newes, A Proverb. taken up for an odious untruth, a lowd Lie? A faculty that hath ſo diſparaged his intelligence, whereof he makes a trade, that truth, and true intelligence fares the worſe, and wants that credit it deſerves, many times, with moſt of his good Maſters, for coming out of his mouth ſo accuſtomed to run over with flammes and falſhoods, the juſt reward of a known convictedMendax ho • lucratur, ut cùm vera dixerit, ei non credatur. Ariſt. apud Diog. l. 5 lyer. By the way, tell me, are we not like to have Peace and Truth meet apace, the hearty and unfained wiſh of all good Proteſtants, and true Patriots, whileſt theſe hypocrites mouth nothing more, meane nothing leſſe: are not theſe (I ſay) like to meet and greet apace, when, leaſt our peace ſhould returne, before their ends, their turnes are ſerv'd, to continue their diſmall diſtance, we muſt have ſuch fomenting of diviſions, ſuch flattering of parties with Lyes, lyes by the living, lyes by the dead, lyes from the Preſſe, and (would I could not ſay) lyes from the Pulpit too? But all this while we ſpeak without book: It's ſure going by the booke, ſaith Dick. Let's then from his verball, tranſient lies (whereof ſomwhat before in his Impudence) to his printed, permanent lies: yet not all thoſe neither, for fowling too much paper, but here and there one, for a taſt and teſt of the whole pack, as we uſe to ſay, Ex pede Herculem, you may judge of Hercules dimenſions by his foot.

Not to repeat that which beares the bell from all the reſt, 1. Inſtance. the Paſſing-bell; and to paſſe over the Petition marching in the Front, that I may not ſeem ſo raſh as to grapple with a multitude, though the thing without all queſtion be properly his own, as the Amanuenſis, who lead the Petitioners into a manifeſt untruth, when he made them certifie, that Doctor &c. was Parſon of Hith, Parſon of Ickham, Parſon of Well, Parſon of Salt wood, &c. and Doctor &c. Parſon of Back-Church in London, Parſon of Barham in Eaſt-Kent neere Dover, Parſon of Biſhopſbourne, &c. when he knowes, as well as hundreds more in thoſe parts, that as Hith and Salt wood are but one and the ſame Parſonage, Ickham and Well another, ſo Biſhopſbourne and Barham are no more, though he reckon the Chappells as ſeverall and diſtinct Parſonages, (one of which, Well, is long ſince deſolate) and marſhall them ſo farre aſunder, that his fallacious and unfaithfull dealing may be the better hid. To let theſe things paſſe, I ſay, and come to his Pamphlet.

What an impudent lie is that, 〈◊〉 . Inſtance. pag. 4. where, with ſawcie language towards moſt of the Bench, whom he calls malignant and Prelaticall Juſtices, he affirmes that they ſo beſtirred themſelves, that the arraigned Cathedraliſt was ('tis plaine, he means unjuſtly) acquitted? when it is notorious in the Countrey (and we have nothing but his bare word in contradiction) that the buſineſſe had a ſquare, faire triall, and the priſoner, by an whole dozen of honeſt and unbyac'd Jury-men, was legally a quitted. Thus for the text. Now what ſaith the margin? Why, A Cathedrall laſſe beguiled by a Singing-man. Like text, like margin, both falſe. The beguiler, he knowes, (nor is it unknown to Town and Countrey) was no Singing-man, but a Townſman a Chirurgion, that but a while before left the City to dwell in the Church. Now when in a thing ſo freſh in memory, he dares to falſifie ſo groſſely, what truth may we expect from his ſtories of occurrences pretending to 30. or 40. years ſtanding? Withall, ſee what a tale he hath here choſen to begin with, to defile his own neſtTurdus ſibi malum cacat. withall, like a curſed Cham, to diſcover his fathers ſhame, by reviving the ſtory of his quondam-queſtioning for beguiling a wench, in thoſe dayes called begetting a baſtard, which otherwiſe was well nigh buried in oblivion. Doubtleſſe (friend) neither Father norCui pater eſt populus, non habet ipſe pa • rem. Fatherleſſe have reaſon to con you much thanks for this occaſion of making their credits to bleed afreſh, by ſuch unadviſed tale-telling.

But ſince you will needs provoke the diſcourſe (by talking of Baſtards) prethee, man, tell me (as you are an excellent Caſuiſt) what may be thought of their children that marty themſelves?The validity 〈◊〉 new-faſhioned marriages debated. (as a precious paire of your acquaintance lately did in Canterbury:) or of theirs either, which you and your fellowes uſe of late to couple, and put together (marrying you would have it call'd) after an upſtart, new-fangled (I ſhould ſay reformed) way of your own deviſing; with utter deteſtation, waving that of the Church of England, both in point of what is to precede the ſolemnization (publiſhing of Banes, &c.) and in the ſolemnization it ſelfe (the Forme preſcribed in our Liturgy eſtabliſhed by Law.)

Admit, upon occaſion, their Legitimation come in queſtion, what,1 As to the Iſſues Legitimation. I ſay, in the judgment of ſober men, regulating their opinions by the Law of the Land, may be thought thereof? or how ſhall it be juſtified? when the policie of this State hitherto (for I ſpeake not of the future, not knowing what tomorrow may bring forth) allowes not of (what their legitimation depends on) their parents intermarriage in ſuch a caſe.

And doth not the like ſcruple offer it ſelfe in point of dower? 2 As to the widdowes dower. For, ſuppoſe that after ſuch a mock-marriage, the good-man dying, the widdow be put to ſue for her dower, and conſequently to plead the accouplement en loyall matrimony, I would fain know how in this caſe ſhe ſhall be able to juſtifie her plea, being married after ſuch a ſort as the Church of England (to whoſe connuſance the State transfers the plea) is ſo farre from approving, that the parties ſo coupled, in her conſtruction, (if thoſe that know her mind, I meane, Lawyers, may be credited) are ſo farre from being man and wife in foro fori, that if in foro conſcientiae they finde no tie upon them to the contrary, they may even forſake and leave each other when they pleaſe, without controll. And what fine work, my maſters, this may chance to make in time, judge ye. But by the way take this ſtory along with you, as in my judgment not impertinent, not borrowed from either Plato's Common-wealth, or Sir Tho. Mores Vtopia, but of that reality and certain truth, that 'twill be no newes at all to many now in London, ready with an Ecce (as it were) of demonſtration, to point out the parties. A watch then being lately ſet on foot between a young couple in London, and both parties and parents ſo farre agreed,An inſtance 〈◊〉 ſuch a marriage. both in point of portion and otherwiſe, as that nothing now was wanting of two to make them one, but an orderly ſolemnizing their nuptiall rites, they muſt needs, forſooth, be married (for ſo the maids father will have it) after the new faſhion, without asking, without licence, without ring, without book. The young man (for the preſent) diſſembles his diſlike of the way, and ſuffers the father herein to have his will.With the ſequel of it. After this mock-marriage, what do the young paire, but, like other married couples, live and lie together? and, by the provocation of ſuch opportunities, ſomewhat at length followed, that required the countenance of a reall marriage; which the young man perceiving, and being unſatisfied both with the way of his marriage, and with the ſumme of his wives portion; or, it may be, intending to take advantage of the invalidity and illegality of the one, to procure an augmentation of the other, and thinking the time now come to do the feat, what doth he, but, as if cleere of all conjugall bands, and no way obliged to nuptiall duties, forſakes his pregnant bed-fellow, diſclaims her for his wife,A whore and a knave. nay and in diſpute about the matter with her father, that he may caſt the Whore upon her, is contented to take the Knave unto himſelfe: ſo that, in ſhort, for his part, actum eſt de connubio, hee'l no more of the match, unleſſe (for, after much adoe, to theſe termes they came at length, and this was that the young man had in project all the while) to that portion which he had had with her already, ſuch a further ſumme might be added as he required, and that they might withall be married after the old orderly manner, in the legall way of the Church of England: upon which conditions, and not otherwiſe, he would take her for his wife againe, and uſe her as became an husband. The old amazed Father-in-law finding himſelfe thus unexpectedly caught,Wily beguil'd. ſo much of his money gone already, and, as it proved, to no better end then to have his daughter, after ſo long proſtitution, turned back upon him with diſgrace, and all for want of a right and orderly marriage pleadable in Law, thinking it his beſt way to make a vertue of neceſſity, condeſcended to theſe harſh demands, payes downe what money was required, and ſuffers a ſecond (that is, a right and orderly) ſolemnization of his daughters marriage to the ſame man, being well laughed at for his paines; and whether ſerved in his kind or not, let any but his peeres, ſuch innovating coxcombs as himſelfe, be judge.

Another ſuch like mock-marriage there was, 2. Inſtance. happening much about the ſame time too: but the advantage here was taken on the womans part, whoſe portion being in her brothers hands, and he refuſing to part with it, unleſſe verily ſhe would take an huſband of his chuſing (a zealous brother, forſooth, whom ſhe affected not, being indeed in league with another man before:) ſhee cunningly diſſembles her conſent, ſo as upon the wedding-day ſhe might herſelfe receive her portion. Her brother condeſcended: ſo married they were in that ſpick and ſpan new way.With its ſequel. At night when the Bride ſhould go to bed, ſhe conditions with her Groom, that ſince they were married in a new way, ſo after a new, though preproſterous order of entring the nuptiall geniall bed, he ſhould go to bed firſt: he did ſo; then (having taken a former opportunity to conveigh her marriage-money into her fore-intended huſbands hands) ſhe pretends an occaſion to go down, leaving the poore miſtruſtleſſe gull in bed, expecting her returne, and making ſure account to exchange a maidenhead with his Bride that night; who intending nothing leſſe, and having provided all things in a readineſſe for her eſcape, gets her away after her mony, and the next day, or ſhortly after, became his lawfull wife (by right way of marriage) whoſe ſhe was before by affection, and ſo continues, the former-mock-marriage notwithſtanding. But are we not unmannerly to leave Richard thus long? Craving then his pardon, we proceed.

As for the Glory-cloth, whereof in the Petition, 3. Inſtance, The Glory-Cloth vindicated. and againe pag. 6. to ſtop the Lyers mouth, and ſatisfie ſuch as are capable of it, ſober men, the truth of that buſineſſe is ſhortly thus: The late Dutcheſſe Dowager, of Lenox (no Papiſt, I know unleſſe her pious legary muſt make her ſo eſteem'd,) amongſt ſome other like bequeſts, conteined in her will, giving to this Cathedrall 100. pound ſterling, at ſuch time as the Society was in conſultation for repairing ſome decayes about the ornaments, and utenſills of their Church; the back-cloth upon the Screene, or Traverſe, being much diſcoloured, with age, and the Screene it ſelfe a goodly piece of carved Tabernacle-worke,The Screene, which though overlaid with gold, yet when ſtripped of the imagery that ſomtime was about it, the pious and prudent (Reformers of old thought fit to be left ſtanding) in many places of it, by the golds wearing off being gonne alſo to ſome decay; with this 100 pound legacy, and ſomwhat added to it of their own, they purchaſed a new cloth of purple velvet, and hung it up in the roome of the other; repaired the decayes of the gold about the Screene; and for the further adorning of the cloth, and minding the beholders of the deadfulneſſe and ſacredneſſe of that place, not in it ſelfe, but from the high and ſacred Agends there, for the better ſeaſoning and preparing the approachers mindes with fitting thoughts and meditations in their addreſſes thither (feare and reverence being to walke hand in hand with faith and repentance in that ſacramentall action) purpoſed and tooke order to have imbroydered on it in gold and ſilver, what? why even no more then is penſill'd in as glorious a manner at the head of moſt Chancells in London, above the Decalogue, the glorious and dreadful name, Jehovah, with ſuitable embelliſhments. And what matter is there in all this of ſcorne, of clamour, of making the world beleeve that this Glory is their Shame? Indeed, Nunc aliud tempus, alii pro tempore mores.

How falſe (next) is his relation concerning Dr. P. pag. 10. where although he have the impudence to averr that the Cathedrall gates were ſhut a day or two for his reſcue and defence againſt the Magiſtrate and People, 4. Inſtance. &c. yet in truth there was no ſuch matter; no ſhutting of gates, but in the night time, as at other times before and ſince, till they were heav'd off and laid by. Nor did the party ever hide himſelfe, or was concealed by the Cathedralliſts, as he pretends, but when demanded by the City-Magiſtrates, preſently yeelded himſelf without the leaſt reſiſtance, either by word or deed, as many both of the Church and City of more credit then Dr. Dick, can, and, if required, are ready to atteſt.

To let paſſe his Lie of the Mutiny at Canterbury, 5. Inſtance. recorded pag. 12. a thing that never was above ground; ſee how he faulters and falſifies in his Winters-tale concerning the fall of the Vane and Pinnacle, pag. 13. going about to perſwade ſtrangers (he cannot thoſe that live upon the place, and know the contrary, & ſo dare tel him to his face) that the Vane with the Archb. Arms pulling down the Pinnacle which upheld it, in the fall was carried (partly againſt the winde) a good diſtance from the ſteeple, and fell upon the roof of the Cloyſter, in which Cloyſter the Armes of the Archbiſhoprick of Canterbury were carved and painted on the lower ſide or concave of the arch or ſeeling of the Cloyſter; which Arms in the Cloyſter were daſhed in pieces by the Armes which fell from the Pinnacle of the ſteeple. The Armes of the preſent Archbiſhop (ſo he ſummes it up) brake down the Armes of the Archbiſhoprick or Sea of Canterbury: adding in the next page, that the Cathedrall-men repairing the broken Cloyſter, gilded and painted the arch over head as it was before: but (ſaith he) they have made other Coat-Armes in the roome of the Arms of the Archbiſhopricke, becauſe they would conceale the ſtrange ruine of thoſe Armes. Mendax lingua quò vadis? for here is lie upon lie, one in the neck of another, ſic unda ſupervenit undam, and thoſe, for a taſt of his Poeticall learning, ſummed up in the cloſe with certain capring times, to give his Readers palate ſome variety, or rather for the lies better authorizing: for Pictoribus atque Poetis, &c. what Priviledges Poets and Painters have in this kinde, is notorious. Would you know the truth? Then thus it was. About the time he ſpeaks of,Truth cleered concerning the Vanes. ſuch Vanes were indeed erected for the common benefit and accommodation as well of ſtrangers travelling by thoſe parts, as of the Inhabitants upon and neere the place; the ſupereminent place of their choſen poſiture, yeelding great advantage for a vaſt latitude of publike aſpect. Of theſe ('tis true) that with the Archbiſhops Armes upon it, in that great ſtorme on S. Johns night, 1639. fell, and in the fall drew down with it the top of the pinnacle whereon it ſtood: but that the Pinnacle and it were carried any diſtance from the ſteeple, with the wind, much leſſe againſt it, is moſt falſe; ſince who yet obſerves may ſee, they fell directly downe into that corner of the Cloyſter underneath, almoſt contiguous to the very pillar of the ſteeple which ſupports both Pinnacle and Vane.

What he adds (that in their fall, they bare or brake down the Armes of the Archbiſhoprick carved and painted on the lower ſide or concave of the arch, or feeling of the Cloyſter &c.) is a lie as notorious as the former, there never being any Armes of the Archbiſhoprick either carved or painted in the place of the breach; nay no Armes at all, but ſuch ordinary worke as in the reſt of the untouched roofe on all parts thereabouts is at this day to bee ſeene. 'Tis true there was on the one hand of the breach, the Arms of the noble houſe of Arundell quartered with another coate, as there was of ſome other (or a plaine ſhield rather) on the other ſide, and thoſe are ſtanding ſtill, undemoliſhed by the fall: but for other Armes there or thereabouts, of the Archbiſhoprick eſpecially, though magiſteriall Richards own ſelfe averr it, yet (ifCuilibet in ſua arte, perito eſſe credendum Heralds and others may be credited to whom the Cloyſter with the Armes about it, by curious and frequent obſervation taken of both, before this breach was made, was and is better knowne then ever to him, or any of his tribe) he lies as groſſely, as the man you wote of that told us of the miraculous ringing of the Archbiſhops paſſing-bell, or as he that talks of eating a Sackpoſſet out of the Cathedrall baſon, p. 20. or as he (the very ſame hand guided both pens) that ſaid, the Miniſter that ſucceeded M. Culmer. upon his ſuſpenſion, for refuſing to read the booke of Liberty. ſhortly after drown'd himſelfe. Nor doth he otherwiſe when he aſſignes the reaſon for taking downe all the other three Vanes, to be Cathedralliſts policie, for taking away the obſervation and remembrance of that downfall, which concerned their gracious Dioceſan, and great Cathedrall ſo much. Whereas the known and onely cauſe hereof was, an experience by this unhappy accident, of the weakneſſe and inability of the ſlender pinnacles to ſupport them in ſtormy weather, without indangering the ſteeple: a thing, from the very firſt, ſo much feared of the moſt of the Churchmen, that, but for the forwardneſſe of ſome one or two, (whereof the one in Office for that yeere, who afterwards ſmarted for ſuch his forwardneſſe, being at his paſſing his accompts, made to pay ſome part of the charge out of his own purſe, as I have heard) they had never been ſet up; ſo ſtrong was the oppoſition againſt it from the reſt of the company.

Where he inſinuates (pag. 18.) that none but Proctors, 6. Inſtance. Fidlers, Tapſters, and other friends of the Cathedrall and Prelaticall party at Canterbury, were for the Archbiſhops Secretary to be Burgeſſe there &c. how ſawcy and falſe too is hee in that aſſertion? when 'tis knowne, nay the fellow knowes it himſelfe, that the then Mayor, all the Aldermen, but one, moſt of the Common Counſell, beſides divers prime Citizens and Freemen, that were neither Proctors, Fidlers, nor Tapſters &c. gave, or were ready to have given their voices for the Gentlemans election. By the way, friend, how rude and uncivill (not unlike your ſelfe in this ſawcy terme reflecting, if you marke it, upon no ſmall number of your good Maſters) the oppoſite partie was in that action, I report me to the indifferent and ſober partie of that aſſembly.

As for his aſſertion and triumph, in that abſurd compariſon, 7. Inſtance. pag. 24. That now there is no ſuch heterodox malignant Cathedrall ſtuffe heard at Chriſt-Church, as before this bleſſed Reformation, &c. What he meanes by ſuch epitheted ſtuffe I know not. But 'tis too well knowne to Town and Country, that ſince this bleſſed Reformation, ſince the ſetling this able and orthodox Miniſtry, as he calls it, ſince theſe young beardleſſe boyes came thither to preach in Quirpo, ſince this change of Aenea pro aureis, of Droſſe for Gold, there hath beene and is ſuch ſtrange matter delivered there for Doctrine, ſuch upſtart new-fangled ſtuffe for Diſcipline, as ſtartles many ſober, orthodox,New Cathedrall preaching, new. well-affected Chriſtians to heare, One cries down the Liturgy (the Service-Book eſtabliſhed by Act of Parliament) with ſtale, thred-bare, long ſince refuted, exploded arguments, pick'd from the ſcurrilous, libellous papers of Martin Marprelate, T. C. and their fellowes. Another labours to diſaffect his Auditors to it, with odious compariſons betwixt it and conceived prayer, reſembling that to the conſtant and unvaried note of the Cuckow; this this to the ſweet and changeable tunes of theThe ſame mouth was ſince that, out of another Pulpit, heard to wiſh, that all thoſe that bowed at the name of Jeſus, might be crooked, and that as many as kneeled at receiving the Communion, might riſe up no more, or to that effect. Nightinghale. One (and more then one, and with more then ordinary violence too, and demonſtration of the ſpirit of contradiction of the orthodox Doctors and Doctrine of our owne and all other reformed Churches:) will have no Communions at all, fiercely condemning it both in the giver and receiver, becauſe, forſooth, of the mixture of good and bad, the precious with the vile, at thoſe meetings; Anabaptiſtically fancying to themſelves, and no leſſe paradoxically, a CHVRCH here upon earth without ſpot or And is not here brave ſport for the Romaniſts? we that were wont to upbraid them with their halfe Communions, are now come to fall ſhort of that, and deny all. Beſides, what's become of that Note which wee aſſume of a true Church (the right Adminiſtration of the Sacraments) when we will adminiſter none at all? blemiſh. Another will have no Diſcipline, no forme of Church-government, but that wilde one of Independency, proteſting, and declaming againſt all other formes as repugnant to holy Scripture. Thus they preach, and will you heare now a little of their Praying?

Tickets come to them from this and that good Siſter thicke and three-fold,And Praying. one muſt bee (and was) remembred and commended in a thanksgiving to Almighty God for an overflowing meaſure of the spirit in her, (to the admiration you may thinke of all her Goſſips.) Another muſt have, and had, their prayers for the contrary, her lack and want of the ſpirit, (to your Siſter, Goſſip, and ſhare with her of her Overflowings.) A third, whereof I ſaw and read the Ticket, ſo ill written, both for authography and ſence, as I never ſaw any thing of that kind more ridiculous and abſurd, muſt have, and had, their thanks and prayers too for a brother of hers: Thanks to God, for the opening of his eyes, and bringing him to the ſight of his error; and what was that? why, taking up Armes, and ingaging his perſon as a Souldier on the Kings partie: Prayers, for what? why, that he ſhut not his eyes againe, and having deſerted the King,A holy ſiſter beguiled. revolt, and relapſe into his former error, Another of the Siſterhood, a ſedulous and noted frequenter of their zealous exerciſe, both publike and private, having caught a clap of late, beſides the prayers made in her behalfe, both here and elſewhere, how did one of theſe Orthodox Miniſters, tooth and naile, omni cum valido ſu • , beſtir himſelf in a Sermon the next Lords daie, made on purpoſe to ſalve the matter, and reconcile her to the offended Congregation, from that proper and pertinent Text of Scripture, Gal. 6. v. 1. whileſt ſome of the Siſterhood, hearing how the tongues of certaine of their owne tribe were laviſh in the cenſure of their collapſed Siſter, and in ſuch termes too as tended to the diſcredit of their righteous profeſſion, tender of the conſequence, laboured to diſſwade them from ſuch ſcandalous cenſures, condiſcending to have her called Whore, but not,Cenſured. as ſome would terme her, Round-head-Whore. And is not the world well mended, my Maſters, at Chriſt-Church, ſince this able and Orthodox Miniſtry was ſetled there? doth not the Hiſtorian juſtlie, worthilie celebrate this alteration? A remedie indeed as bad, if not worſe then the diſeaſe, not through the Phyſitians fault though, but theirs rather, who like pragmaticall patients, will take no Phyſicke but of their owne preſcribing, admit of no Paſtors but of their owne recommending; a miſchief which the wiſdome of our State hath ever laboured to prevent, by oppoſing popular Votes in the election of Miniſters, which cure, if at this day for a while remitted, will, I doubt not, be re-aſſum'd againe, after ſome few ſuch miſcarriages as this, have ſufficiently informed the world of the inconvenience, Fiat.

Thus have you heard of ſome of the Hiſtorians good qualities,Peroratio. to which I might juſtly add more, ſuch as his Arrogance, Envy, Revenge, Rudeneſſe: but ſince they are glanced at before, and you may nauſeate what you have already, ſuch unſavoury ſtuffe it is, and chiefly leaſt ſome over-curious Anagrammatiſt ſhould pleaſe himſelfe too much with picking out his name (Richard Culmer) from the firſt letter of each word in this goodly Poeſie put together, which, to avoid the giving ſuch a hint, I have ex profeſſo, and of purpoſe, marſhalled otherwiſe then they lie in the mans name, and that ſomewhat may be reſerved for a ſecond edition, if he ſhould provoke it, by obtruding his Newes upon us a ſecond time, I will ſtop here, neither fowling my own fingers, The Cathedraliſts accuſers competency debated. nor blaſting others eares with repreſenting any more of his wretched conditions at preſent. And by this time, Readers, you may be ready, I ſuppoſe, for a queſtion, and be ask'd what you think of the competency of the Cathedraliſts Accuſer, now that you have ſeene him unmas'd? Is not Dick Culmer a fitting man to accuſe other men, and in that bitter, ſatyricall, ſarcaſticall phariſaicall way too,Quis tulerit Gracchum? that is ſo many wayes obnoxious to juſt reproofe himſelfe? to record, to make a Regiſter of Cathedrall evills, of Cathedraliſts vices, that is ſo great a ſtranger to all vertue himſelfe? Were it not a great deale fitter, while the hypocrite is pulling Motes out of his brothers eyes, or pulling out their eyes rather, if that will content him, for 'tis their extirpation onely, not reformation will ſerve his turne, that he were caſting Beames out of his owne? Was there ſo little choice, that a more righteous man then he could not be found, on whom to lay the Province? In reaſon ſuch a Cenſor ſhould himſelfe be rectus in curia, nay integer vitae, ſceleriſque purus, ſome Cato, or an Ariſtides, a man of exemplary juſtice, and morall integrity. It was indeed the ſaying of as honeſt a man ſomtime as himſelfe:Machiavel. Accuſa fortiter, haerebit aliquid. Accuſe home be ſure, and doubtleſſe thou ſhalt not loſe thy labour. But then, as generally in caſes of this nature, the Accuſer ought himſelfe to be integrae famae, a man without exception. Shall a Jew accuſe a Jew? Claudius cannot paſſe for a competent accuſer of a Moechus, nor Catiline of Cethegus. Amongſt the liſt of juſt exceptions by the Civill Law ſerving to repell an accuſer, I have met with theſe: 1. Infamie, 2. Capitall Enmity, 3. Guiltineſſe of the ſame crime, and 4. Sacriledge. To all which exception and many more, how liable our precious Recorder is, ex allegatis & probatis, is ſo notorious, as that henceforth (after this Antidote I meane) I ſhall not doubt to find both the Accuſer and his Accuſation (the Newes and the Newes-monger) accordingly eſteemed with indifferent Judges.

As for the Proctors booke,The Proctors book vindicated. about which he keeps ſo great a ſtir, (I pray tell him) had he thought me worthy of one of his books, (as well as ſome others that I thinke had as little relation to him) I ſhould have thought my ſelf more obliged to have ſaid ſomwhat in his defence, however for the booke it ſelf, I will ſay ſo much for truths ſake, that I have heard many whom I tooke to be judicious men, and well-affected to the Publike, ſpeake of it with good reſpect: but to this day never heard any (of any judgement) blemiſh it with any ſuch imputation laid upon it, as that of much advancing Idolatry, (pag. 22.) But may he not be thought his owne foe in flying ſo eagerly and angrily into the face of the Prector? For (if it be true that I have heard) that he hath the keeping of the Neck-verſe Booke) time may come, when the Proctor may doe him a ſpeciall courteſie. Friends, you may one day be beholden to him, (ſince you talke of Bookes) for that booke of mercie (if it be not above your learning, being written in Latine) to prevent an aſcent upon the fatall Ladder, which your readineſſe to come up the firſt, and your feats upon it, may ſooner bring you then you are yet aware of. A rope was then as a bridle about your loynes, take heed it get not up higher and prove hereafter a Collar for your neck. Dick! you bad the Prelate remember the Pinacle, but me thinks I heare ſombodie make you this returne: Plunderer! remember you went beyond your Commiſſion: And indeed,A jeer retorted (friend Richard) as much as you joy and ſcoffe at the hearing of the Cathedrall-Gates, looke it come not to that paſſe one day, that you wiſh the City-Gates, nay the Kingdomes-Gates, (the Ports ſtood as wide open as theſe, when one paire of heeles may be worth two paire of hands, when an eſcape away may prove your beſt ſanctuary againſt ſuch a legall triall by the knowne Laws of the Land, as may turne you over to Tiburne-Faire. And then Bones Noches, good night Dick. In the meane time, Clama, declama, exclama uſque ad Ravim—Rumpantur ut Ilia.

Barke, bellow, bawll; do even thy worſt, Till both thy bowells and thy belly burſt. FINIS.