A LETTER Lately sent by A Reverend Bishop FROM THE TOWER, TO A private Friend: AND By him thought fit to be published.

LONDON, Printed in the yeare, 1642.

TO MY MVCH RESPECTED GOOD FRIEND, Mr H. S.

VVorthy Sir,

YOu thinke it strange that I should salute you from hence; how can you choose, when I doe yet still wonder to see-my selfe here? My intenti­ons, and this place are such strangers, that I can­not enough marvell how they met. But, howsoever, I doe in all humility kisse the rod, wherewith I smart, as well know­ing whose hand it is that wields it; To that infi­nite justice who can be innocent? but to my King and Country never heart was, or can be more cleare; and I shall beshrew my hand if it shall have (against my thoughts) justly offended either; and if either say so, I reply not; as having [Page 2] learned not to contest with those that can com­mand Legions.

In the meane time it is a kind, but a cold com­plement, that you pity me; an affection well pla­ced where a man deserves to be miserable; for me, I am not conscious of such merit. You tell me in what faire termes I stood not long since, with the world; how large roome I had in the hearts of the best men: But can you tell me how I lost it? Truly I have in the presence of my God narrowly searcht my owne bosome; I have un­partially ransackt this fagge-end of my life, and curiously examined every step of my wayes; and I cannot, by the most exact scrutiny of my saddest thoughts, finde what it is that I have done to forfeit that good estimation, wherewith, you say, I was once blessed.

I can secretly arraigne and condemne my selfe of infinite transgresions, before the Tribunal of heaven: Who, that dwels in an house of clay, can be pure in his sight, that charged his Angels with folly? O God, when I look upon the rec­konings betwixt Thee and my soule, and find my shamefull areres, I can be most vile in my own sight, because I have deserved to be so in thine: Yet, even then, in thy most pure eyes, give me leave, the whiles, not to abdicate my sincerity; thou knowest my heart desires to be right with thee, what ever my failings may have been; and I know what value thou puttest upon those sincere desires, notwithstanding all the intermixtures of our miserable infirmities: These I can penitently [Page 3] bewaile to thee; but in the meane time, what have I done to men? Let them not spare to shame me with the late sinfull declinations of my age, and fetch blushes (if they can) from a wrink­led face.

Let mine enemies (for such I perceive I have, and those are the surest monitors) say what I have offended; For their better irritation, my cleare conscience bids me boldly to take up the challenge of good Samuel, Behold, here I am; wit­nesse against mee before the Lord, and before his A­nointed; Whose Oxe have I taken? or whose Asse have I taken? or whom have I defrauded? whom have I oppressed? or of whose hand have I received any bribe to blinde mine eyes therewith? and I will restore it you.

Can they say, that I bore up the reyns of govern­ment too hard; and exercised my jurisdiction in a rigorous and tyrannicall way, insolently Lording it over my charge? Malice it self, perhaps, would, but dare not speak it; or, if it should, the attesta­tion of so grave and numerous a Clergie would choak such impudence; Let them witnesse, whe­ther they were not still entertained by me with an equall returne of reverence, as if they had been all Bishops with me, or I onely a Presbyter with them; according to the old rule of Egbert Arch-Bishop of Yorke; Intra domum Episcopus colle­gam se presbyterorum esse cognoscat; Let them say, whe­ther ought here looked like despoticall, or sounded rather of imperious commands, then of brotherly complying; whether I have not rather, from some beholders, undergone the censure of a too hum­ble [Page 4] remisnesse; as perhaps stooping too low be­neath the eminence of Episcopal dignity; whether I have not suffered as much in some opinions, for the vvinning mildnesse of my administration, as some others for a rough severity.

Can they say (for this aspersion is likewise com­mon) that I barred the free course of religious ex­ercises, by the suppression of painfull & peaceable Preachers? If shame will suffer any man to object it, let me challenge him to instance but in one name; Nay, the contrary is so famously known in the Westerne parts, that every mouth will herein justify mee. What free admission and in­couragement have I alwayes given to all the Sons of peace, that came with Gods message in their mouthes? What mis-suggestions have I wa­ved? What blowes have I borne off in the be­halfe of some of them, from some gain-sayers? How have I often and publiquely professed, that as well might we complain of too many stars in the skie, as too many Orthodox Preachers in the Church?

Can they complain that I fretted the neckes of my Clergie with the uneasie yoake of new, and illegall impositions? Let them whom I have thus hurt blazon my unjust severity, and write their wrongs in marble: But, if disliking all no­vel devices, I have held close to those ancient rules which limited the Audience of our godly Predecessors; If I have grated upon no mans conscience by the pressure (no not by the tender) of the late Oath, or any unprescribed Ceremonie; [Page 5] If I have freely in the Committee, appointed by the most honourable House of Peeres, declared my open dislike in all innovations, both in doctrine and rites, why doth my innocence suffer?

Can they challenge me as a close, and back­staire-friend to Popery or Arminianisme, who have in so many Pulpits, and so many Presses, cryed downe both? Surely, the very paper that I have spent in the refutation of both these, is enough to stop more mouthes then can be guil­ty of this calumnie.

Can they check me with a lazie silence in my place, with infrequence of preaching? Let the populous Auditories where I have lived, witnesse, whether having furnished all the Churches neare me with able Preachers, I tooke not all opportu­nities of supplying such courses, as I could get, in my Cathedrall; and when my tongue was si­lent, let the world say whether my hand were idle.

Lastly, since no man can offer to upbraid me with too much pompe, which is wont to be the common eye-sore of our envied profession; Can any man pretend to a ground of taxing me (as I perceive one of late hath most unjustly done) of too much worldlinesse? Surely, of all the vi­ces forbidden in the Decalogue, there is no one which my heart upon due examination can lesse fasten upon mee then this: He that made it, knowes that he hath put into it a true disregard (save onely for necessary use) of the world, and of all that it can boast of, whether for profit, plea­sure, or glory.

[Page 6] No, no; I know the world too well to dote up­on it; Whiles I am in it, how can I but use it? but I never care, never yeelde to emjoy it. It were too great a shame for a Philosopher, a Christian, a Divine, a Bishop to have his thoughts groveling here upon earth; for mine, they scorn the imployment; and look upon all these sublu­nary distractions (as upon this mans false cen­sure) with no other eyes then contempt.

And now; Sir, since I cannot (how secretly faulty soever) guesse at my owne publique ex­orbitances, I beseech you, where you heare my name traduced, learne of mine accusers (whose Lyncean eyes would seeme to see farther into me then my owne) what singular offence I have committed.

If perhaps my calling be my crime; It is no other then the most holy Fathers of the Church in the Primitive and succeeding Ages, ever since the Apostles, (many of them also blessed Mar­tyrs) have been guilty of; It is no other then all the holy Doctors of the Church, in all gene­rations, ever since, have celebrated, as most reverend, sacred, inviolable; It is no other, then all the whole Christian world, excepting one small handfull of our neighbours, (whose con­dition denyed them the oportunity of this go­vernment) is known to enjoy, without contra­diction: How safe is it erring in such company? If my offence be in my pen, which hath (as it could) undertaken the defence of that Aposto­licall institution, (though with all modesty, and [Page 7] faire respects to the Churches differing from us) I cannot deprecate a truth: and such I know this to bee: which is since so cleared by better hands, that I well hope the better-in­formed world cannot but sit downe convinced; Neither doubt I, but that, as metals receive the more lustre with often rubbing, this truth, the more agitation it undergoes, shall appeare every day more glorious. Onely, may the good spirit of the Almighty speedily dispell all those dus­kie prejudices from the mindes of men, which may hinder them from discerning so cleare a light.

Shortly then, knowing nothing by my selfe, whereby I have deserved to alienate any good heart from me, I shall resolve to rest securely up­on the acquiting testimony of a good conscience, and the secret approbation of my gracious God; who shall one day cause mine innocence to breake forth as the morning light, and shall give me beauty for bonds, and for a light and mo­mentany affliction, an eternall weight of glory. To shut up all, and to surcease your trouble. I write not this, as one that would pumpe for fa­vour and reputation from the disaffected multi­tude, (for I charge you, that what passes private­ly betwixt us, may not fall under common eyes) but onely with this desire, and intention, to give you true grounds, where you shall heare my name mentioned, with a causelesse offence, to yeeld mee a just and charitable vindication. Go you on still to doe the office of a true friend, yea, the du­ty [Page 8] of a just man; in speaking in the cause of the dumb, in righting the innocent, in rectifying the mis-guided; and lastly, the service of a faithfull and Christian Patriot, in helping the times with the best aid of your prayers; which is the daily task of

Your much devoted, and thankfull friend, JO: NORVIC.

TO MY RIGHT Reverend good Lord, JOSEPH, Lord Bishop of NORWICH.

My very good Lord,

I Received, after much entreaty, your meeke and modest Vindi­cation of your selfe; I preten­ded want of satisfaction con­cerning some late actions of your Lordships, but now I must tell you, and the world toge­ther, I was fully convinced of your desert and integrity, before; and this my request was but to draw from your Lordship such a declaration of your selfe, as might convince others, by my divulging it abroad. But of this you have now sent me, I must say, as not more a friend to you then truth, you have not done your selfe right; you have not followed your cause halfe through­ly: and therefore give me leave (for I will take it) a little more to betray you to the eyes of men, [Page 10] and more openly to unvaile your bashfull inno­cence.

I cannot without a vocall compassion, behold your injured vertue, the most remarkable exam­ple of the malignity of our times; which, when I looked it should receive its crowne from God and men, quite contrary to my expectation, I finde cast downe, and trampled in the dust.

It is not full two yeares agoe, when in that innovating age you suffered under storms and threats from over-busie instruments: every step waited on by intrapping spyes and informers; and brought so far into the mouth of danger, that that Accuser, Kilvert, durst openly threaten you, to be the next man designed for his Inquisition. How often have you stood as a shield betweene those men and danger, who can now complain you are a Bishop; when, if you had not been so, where had they been at this houre? How ma­ny of those Antiprelaticall men, even the most rigid of them, have we heard blessing God for such a Diocesan, by whose provision and govern­ment, great hath been the company of Prea­chers; and acknowledging the Sun of the Go­spel, with your approach, setting in your Western Sea, or rather rising there, in more perfect lu­stre, when the world justly complained it went downe in some other parts of the Kingdome? What prayers, what praises, what wishes were then, on all sides, poured out for you? I should be accounted your flatterer, should I but men­tion them: Whereas now in these dayes of Re­formation, [Page 11] when you might justly expect a re­ward of your former sufferings, as deserving (let me confidently speak it) the greatest share, I see you as much driven at, one the other side, by an ignorant fury of those you defend, and smarting as an enemy to that truth, the maintai­ning of which hath raised against you so many dangerous adversaries. I find you still the same man you were before; and yet, what is strange, groaning under the same burthen of censure, and worse, from quite contrary hands; even from those, whose duty it is to promote and vindicate you; and yet who think they doe that very truth you maintaine good service, in punishing you its defender. A miserably misguided zeale! Father, forgive them, for they know not what they doe. In the meane time, what have they to answer for, who when they can finde no reall blemish upon you, dare like the Romish Imagers in Q. Maries dayes, paint fiends and faults upon your coat; as those cunningly-cruell men, in the Primitive times, cloathing the harmlesse Christian Martyrs with the skins of salvage Bears and Bulls, that they might be baited, and torne by the deceived Ma­stiffes, which would have fawned upon them, had they appeared in their owne shapes: But I forbeare; Onely this, my Lord, if you thus sink, and suffer under evill and killing tongues, happy, thrice happy are you; you know one hath said it, that will make it good: I shall not, I seriously professe, pity, but envy you, for having this eter­nall honour to expire among scoffes, and unjust [Page 12] ignominy, with our great Master. And therefore now, rouze up those drooping spirits, which age and restlesse labours have left you; fixe your eyes stedfastly, with blessed Stephen, upon heaven, and rest your thoughts there, as no doubt you doe, with a calme and smiling confidence; and know, every stone is throwne at you, shall turn a precious one, to deck your crowne of glory. Into the bosome of our gracious God, whom we have thus long served, and enjoyed together, I securely commend you; And, till I meet you in another world, however this world judge of you, shall continue a constant lover of your tryed goodnesse.

H. S.

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