A LETTER

SENT FROM THE TOWER,

ΤΟ Α

PRIVATE FRIEND;

AND BY HIM THOUGHT FIT TO BE PUBLISHED.

TO MY MUCH 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 do yet still wonder to see myself here? My intentions and this place are such strangers, that I cannot enough marvel how they met.

But, howsoever, I do in all humility kiss the rod, wherewith I smart; as well knowing whose hand it is that wields it. To that Infinite Justice who can be innocent? But to my king and country never heart was or can be more clear; 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 mean time, it is a kind, but a cold compliment, that you pity me; an affection well placed, where a man deserves to be miserable for me, I am not conscious of such merit.

You tell me in what fair terms I stood, not long since, with the world; how large room 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 searched my own bosom. I have unpartially ransacked this fag-end of my life, and curiously examined every step of my ways; and I cannot, by the most exact scrutiny of my saddest thoughts, find what it is, that I have done to forfeit that good estimation, wherewith, you say, I was once blessed.

I can secretly arraign and condemn myself of infinite transgressions, before the tribunal of heaven. Who, that dwells in a house of clay, can be pure in his sight, that charged his angels with folly? O God, when I look upon the reckonings betwixt thee and my soul, and find my shameful arrears, I can be most vile in my own sight, because I have deserved to be so in thine: yet, even then, in thy most pure eyes, give me leave, the while, not to abdicate my sincerity. Thou knowest my heart desires to be right with thee, whatever my failings may have been; and I know what value thou puttest upon those sincere desires, notwithstanding all the intermixtures of our miserable infirmities. These I can penitently bewail to thee: but, in the mean time, what have I done to men? Let them not spare to shame me, with the late sinful 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! Witness against me before the Lord, and before his Anointed: whose ox have I taken? or whose ass 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 reins of government too hard; and exercised my jurisdiction in a rigorous and tyrannical way, insolently lording it over my charge? Malice itself, perhaps, would, but dare not speak it: or, if it should, the attestation of so grave and numerous a clergy would choak such impudence. Let them witness, whether they were not still entertained by me with an equal return of reverence, as if they had been all bishops with me, or I only a presbyter with them; according to the old rule of Egbert, archbishop 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, than of brotherly complying: whether I have not rather, from some beholders, undergone the censure of a too humble remissness; as, perhaps, stooping too low beneath the eminence of episcopal dignity: whether I have not suffered as much, in some opinions, for the winning

mildness 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 painful and peaceable preachers? If shame will suffer any man to object it, let me challenge him to instance but in one name. Nay, the contrary is so famously known in the western parts, that every mouth will herein justify me. What free admission and encouragement have I always given to all the sons of peace, that came with God's message in their mouths! What missuggestions have I waved! What blows have I borne off, in the behalf of some of them, from some gainsayers! How have I often and publicly professed, that, as well might we complain of too many stars in the sky, as too many orthodox preachers in the Church.

Can they complain, that I fretted the necks of my clergy with the uneasy yoke of new and illegal impositions? Let them, whom I have thus hurt, blazon my unjust severity, and write their wrongs in marble; but if, disliking all novel devices, I have held close to those ancient rules which limited the audience of our godly predecessors; if I have grated upon no man's conscience by the pressure, no not by the tender, of the late oath, or any unprescribed ceremony; if I have freely, in the committee appointed by the most honourable House of Peers, declared my open dislike of all innovations, both in doctrine and rites; why should my innocence suffer?

Can they challenge me as a close and back-stair friend to Popery or Arminianism, who have, in so many pulpits and so many presses, cried down both? Surely, the very paper, that I have spent in the refutation of both these, is enough to stop more mouths than can be guilty of this calumny.

Can they check me with a lazy silence in my place? With infrequence of preaching? Let the populous auditories where I have lived witness, whether, having furnished all the churches near me with able preachers, I took not all opportunities of supplying such courses, as I could get, in my cathedral; and when my tongue was silent, let the world say whether my hand were idle.

Lastly, since no man can offer to upbraid me with too much

pomp, which is wont to be the common eye-sore of our envied profession, can any man pretend to a ground of taxing me, as I perceive one of late hath most unjustly done, of too much worldliness? Surely, of all the vices forbidden in the Decalogue, there is no one, which my heart, upon due examination, can less fasten upon me, than this. He that made it, knows that he hath put into it a true disregard (save only 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 well to dote upon it. While I am in it, how can I but use it? But I never care, never yield to enjoy it. It were too great a shame for a philosopher, a Christian, a divine, a bishop, to have his thoughts grovelling here upon earth: for mine, they scorn the employment; and look upon all these sublunary distractions, as upon this man's false censure, with no other eyes than contempt.

And now, Sir, since I cannot, how secretly faulty soever, guess at my own public exorbitances, I beseech you, where you hear my name traduced, learn of mine accusers, whose lyncean eyes would seem to see farther into me than my own, what singular offence I have committed.

If, perhaps, my calling be my crime; it is no other, than 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, than all the holy doctors of the Church, in all generations ever since, have celebrated, as most reverend, sacred, inviolable: it is no other, than all the whole Christian world, excepting one small handful of our neighbours, whose condition denied them the opportunity 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 apostolical 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 be: which is since so cleared by better hands, that I well hope the better informed world cannot but sit down convinced. Neither doubt I, but that, as metals receive the more lustre with often rubbing, this truth, the more agitation it undergoes, shall appear every day more glorious. Only, may the good Spirit of the Almighty speedily

dispel all those dusky prejudices from the minds of men, which may hinder them from discerning so clear a light.

Shortly, then, knowing nothing by myself, whereby I have deserved to alienate any good heart from me, I shall resolve to rest securely upon the acquitting testimony of a good conscience, and the secret approbation of my gracious God: who shall one day cause mine innocence to break forth as the morning light, and shall give me beauty for bonds; and, for a light and momentary affliction, an eternal weight of glory.

To shut up all, and to surcease your trouble, I write not this, as one, that would pump 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 only with this desire and intention, to give you true grounds, where you shall hear my name mentioned with a causeless offence, to yield 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 rectifying the misguided; and, lastly, the service of a faithful and Christian patriot, in helping the times with the best aid of your prayers; which is daily the task of

Your much devoted and thankful friend,

JOS. NORVIC.

From the Tower,

Jan. 24, 1641.