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, [Page 2]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 [Page 3] 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 [Page 4]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 [Page 5]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 [Page 6]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.

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, [Page 7]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 [Page 8]'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 [Page 9]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 [Page 10]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 [Page 11]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:

And another, thus:

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.

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 [Page 13] 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, [Page 14]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 [Page 15]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.

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 [Page 16]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 [Page 17]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 [Page 18]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, [Page 19]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,

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?

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 [Page 22] 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) [Page 23]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 [Page 24]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 [Page 26]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 [Page 27]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 [Page 28]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 [Page 29]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 [Page 30] 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 [Page 31]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 [Page 32]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 [Page 33]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.