A LETTER Lately sent by A Reverend Bishop FROM THE TOVVER, TO A PRIVATE FRIEND: AND By him thought fit to be published.

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LONDON, Printed for NATH: BUTTER. MDCXLII.

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

Worthy Sir,

YOu think 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 Countrey 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 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 bee miserable; for me, I am not conscious of such merit. You tell mee 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 own bosome; I have unpartially ransackt this fag-end [Page 2] 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 arraign and condemne my selfe of infinite transgressions, before the Tribunal of heaven: Who, that dwels in an house of clay, can be pure in his sight, that char­geth his Angels with folly? O God when I looke upon the reckonings betwixt Thee & my soul, & find my shamefull areres, I can be most vile in my owne sight, because I have deserved to bee so in thine: Yet, even then, in thy most pure eyes, give mee leave, the whiles, not to abdicate my sincerity; thou knowest my heart desires to bee right with thee, what ever my failings may have beene; and I know what value thou puttest upon those sincere de­sires, notwithstanding all the intermixtures of our mise­rable infirmities: These I can penitently 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 clear conscience bids me boldly to take up the challenge of good Samuel, Behold, here I am; wit­witnesse against me 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 blind 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 speake it; or, if it should, the attestation of so grave and numerous a Clergie would choake such impudence; let them witnesse, whether they were not still entertained by me with an equall returne of [Page 3] reverence, as if they had beene all Bishops with me, or I onely a Presbyter with them; according to the old rule of Egbert, Arch-bishop of York; Intra domum Episcopus col­legam se presbyterorum esse cognoscat; Let them say, whe­ther ought here looked like despotical, 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 remisnesse; as perhaps stooping too low beneath the eminence of Episcopal dignity; whe­ther I have not suffered as much in some opinions, for the winning 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 and peaceable Preachers? If shame wil 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 justifie me. What free admission and incouragement have I al­waies 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 complaine that I fretted the necks 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 obedience 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; If I have freely in the Com­mittee, appointed by the most honourable House of Peeres, declared my open dislike of all innovations, [Page 4] both in Doctrine and rites, why doth my innocence suffer?

Can they challenge me as a close and back-staire-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 neere me with able Preachers, I tooke not all oportunities 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 mee with too much pompe, which is wont to be the common eye­sore 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 worldlynesse? Surely, of all the vices forbidden in the Decalogue, there is no one which my heart upon due examination can lesse fasten up­on me then this: He that made it, knowes that hee 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.

No, no; I know the world too wel to dote upon it; whiles I am in it, how can I but use it? but I never care, never yeeld to enjoy 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 scorne the imployment; and looke 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 [Page 5] into me then my own) 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 smal handful 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 fair 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 mee, 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 mee 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, [Page 6] to give you true grounds, where you shall heare my name mentioned, with a causelesse offence, to yeeld me a just and charitable vindication. Go you on still to do the office of a true friend, yea, the duty of a just man; in speaking in the cause of the dumb, in righting the innocent, in rectifiing 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, and more openly to bewail your bash­full innocence.

I cannot without a vocall compassion behold your inju­red vertue, the most remarkable example of the malignitie 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 [Page 8] age you suffered under stormes and threats from over-busie instruments: every step waited on by intrapping spies and informers; and brought so far into the month 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 beene 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 beene the company of Preachers, and acknowledging the Sunne of the Gospell, 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, when you might justly expect a reward of your former sufferings, as deserving (let me considently speake it) the greatest share, I see you as much driven at, on the other side, by an ignorant fury of those you defended, and smarting as an enemy to that truth, the maintaining of which hath raised against you so many dangerous adversa­ries. I finde 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 maintain good service, in punishing you its defender. A miserably misgui­ded zeale! Father for give them, for they know not what they doe. In the meane time, what have they to answer for, who when they can finde no real blemish upon you, dare like the Romish Imagers in Q. Maries dayes, paint fiends & faults upon your coat; as those cunningly-cruell men, in the Primitive times, cloathing the harmlesse Christian [Page 9] 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, pitie, but envie you, for having this eternall ho­nour to expire among scoffes, and unjust 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 turne 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 meete 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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