A LETTER Lately sent by A Reverend Bishop FROM THE TOWER, TO A private Friend: AND By him thought fit to be published.  
LONDON, Printed in the year, 1642.   

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-my self 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 transgresions, before the Tribunal of heaven: Who, that dwells in an house of clay, can be pure in his sight, that charged his Angels with folly? O God, when I look upon the reckonings betwixt Thee and my 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, what ever my failings may have been; and I know what value thou puttest upon those sincere desires, notwithstanding all the intermixtures of our miserable infirmities: These I can penitently 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 choke 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 & 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 in all innovations, both in doctrine and rites, why doth my innocence suffer?  
Can they challenge me as a close, and ne'er-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 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 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 then 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; Whiles I am in it, how can I but use it? but I never care, never yield to emjoy 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 then 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 momentany 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 the daily task of  
From the Tower, Ian. 24. 1641. Your much devoted, and thankful friend, JO: NORVIC.   

TO MY RIGHT Reverend good Lord, JOSEPH, Lord Bishop of NORWICH.  
My very good Lord,  
I Received, after much entreaty, your meek and modest Vindication of yourself; 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 yourself, 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 yourself right; you have not followed your cause half 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 unveil your bashful innocence.  
I cannot without a vocal compassion, behold your injured virtue, the most remarkable example of the malignity of our times; which, when I looked it should receive its crown from God and men, quite contrary to my expectation, I find cast down, and trampled in the dust.  
It is not full two years ago, when in that innovating age you suffered under storms and threats from overbusy instruments: every step waited on by entrapping spies and informers; and brought so far into the mouth of danger, that that Accuser, Kilvert, durst openly threaten you, to be the next man designed for his Inquisition. How often have you stood as a shield between those men and danger, who can now complain you are a Bishop; when, if you had not been so, where had they been at this hour? How many of those antiprelatical men, even the most rigid of them, have we heard blessing God for such a Diocesan, by whose provision and government, great hath been the company of Preachers; and acknowledging the Sun of the Gospel, with your approach, setting in your Western Sea, or rather rising there, in more perfect lustre, when the world justly complained it went down in some other parts of the kingdom? 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 days of Reformation, when you might justly expect a reward of your former sufferings, as deserving (let me confidently speak it) the greatest share, I see you as much driven at, one the other side, by an ignorant fury of those you defend, and smarting as an enemy to that truth, the maintaining of which hath raised against you so many dangerous adversaries. I find you still the same man you were before; and yet, what is strange, groaning under the same burden 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 do that very truth you maintain good service, in punishing you its defender. A miserably misguided zeal! Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do. In the mean time, what have they to answer for, who when they can find no real blemish upon you, dare like the Romish Imagers in Q. Mary's days, paint fiends and faults upon your coat; as those cunningly-cruel men, in the Primitive times, clothing the harmless Christian Martyrs with the skins of savage Bears and Bulls, that they might be baited, and torn by the deceived mastiffs, which would have fawned upon them, had they appeared in their own shapes: But I forbear; only this, my Lord, if you thus sink, and suffer under evil and killing tongues, happy, thrice happy are you; you know one hath said it, that will make it good: I shall not, I seriously profess, pity, but envy you, for having this eternal honour to expire among scoffs, and unjust ignominy, with our great Master. And therefore now, rouse up those drooping spirits, which age and restless labours have left you; fix your eyes steadfastly, with blessed Stephen, upon heaven, and rest your thoughts there, as no doubt you do, with a calm and smiling confidence; and know, every stone is thrown at you, shall turn a precious one, to deck your crown of glory. Into the bosom of our gracious God, whom we have thus long served, and enjoyed together, I securely commend you; And, till I meet you in another world, however this world judge of you, shall continue a constant lover of your tried goodness.  
Jan. 29, 1641. H. S.