Antidotum Culmerianum: OR, ANIMADVERSIONS UPON A late Pamphlet, entitled, Cathedral News from Canterbury, etc.  
BY RICHARD CULMER, Who is here (according to his friends desire, and his own desert) set forth in his colours.  PSAL. 63.12. 
The mouth of them that speak lies shall be stopped.  Istie thesaurus stultis in lingua positus est, ut maledicant melioribus. Gildas Ecclesiastic. Ordin. Corrept. 
Britannia habet Sacerdotes, sed nonnullos insipientes; quamplurimos Ministros, sed multos impudentes:— saepius detrahentes, & rarò vera dicentes: veritatem pro inimico odientes, & mendaciis ac si charissimis fratribus faventes.  
OXFORD, Printed by H. Hall. 1644.   

To the Reader.  
WAlking London-streets, which echo with nothing more of late, than News, and Newes-books: (Eme Lisippe nevos totâ canit urbe libellos) And hearing one, among the rest of that upstart Corporation (of News-mongers) proclaim Cathedral News from Canterbury, a place whereunto I have formerly had some relation; and in my progress a little further, finding the very same News objected to common view on some Stationer's stalls, reeking hot, as new as day, being by the midwifery of the Press newly brought into the world, for the arguments sake, I could not but turn purchaser, and bestow a small piece of silver on it, resolving after I had perused it myself, to communicate it unto one or other of mine old acquaintance upon the place. Retiring therefore to my chamber, I presently fell to the fetching out my pennyworths: and, though I found the Canterbury-tale somewhat long, yet the length of it so sweetened with gallant palate-pleasing mixtures and varieties, savouring as well of profit as delight, the prime procurers of an authors praise, (Omne tulit punctum qui miscuit utile dulci) and set off with Rhetorical flowers, and the quintessence of enticing language, I would not, I could not leave it, after I had once begun, until a through perusal. And how much the rather, for the noble and famous Author's sake; a man whose sweetness and meekness of temper, and Dovelike conditions, do notably answer to that singular antipathy to the breed of Snakes and Serpents, 
See Lambard. perambul. of Kent, in Tanet.  by Solinus an old Historian, ascribed to his native soil, (the Isle of Thanet:) being indeed a man (as I have heard, and partly know) of great gravity, singular modesty, and other rare gifts, both natural and acquired: whereof what further evidence needs any man expect, than the present elaborate piece, the book in hand. This indeed is my opinion; wherein I think I am so right, so modest in my Encomiastic of the worthy Author, as I shall not need to doubt of any man's concurrence in opinion with me. And being taken with the conceit of the Authors leaving the Pulpit, to follow the Press; in a humour I resolved to leave my old trade (of street-walking) and go to try another while how I could play the Mercury, and write a piece of News. Furnished therefore with materials from Thanet, from the Free-school at Canterbury, from Magdalen-Colledge in Cambridge, from Goodnestone in East-Kent, from Herbaldowne and elsewhere, I put them in Rank and File, and marshaled them as well as I could in the following sheets; how handsomely I fear, it being my first Essay of this kind, the first time I ever offered at the Mercury. Some candour may encourage the new beginner to study your requital with better fruits hereafter. In the mean time (good Reader, to be serious with thee) expect not here any meddling with State-matters, any censuring of Superiors, any reflection upon the higher Powers: no, the News and the Newes-monger (and some of his mates) are the sole subject of this discourse, and that only (as thou hast it in the Title) for an antidote against such gross and notorious slanders upon his brethren, as his malicious pen, under the notion of News, endeavours to obtrude upon credulous vulgar Readers in these censorious times; whilst, for want of a mirror to represent unto them the Accuser himself in his own likeness, what might set a due value and a right estimate upon his censures of other men, is altogether wanting. Thus advertised, I bid thee Farewell.   

Antidotum Culmerianum: OR, Animadversions upon a late Pamphlet, ENTITLED, Cathedral News from Canterbury: BY RICHARD CULMER.  
TO begin with the Title, Cathedral News. 
News.  What a false Sign is here hung out? What an Ignis fatuus hath this Scribbler lighted, both to his Patrons and Reader? Cathedral News? Why how now friend? What out as soon as in? Out at the very first step? Stumble at the threshold? Cathedral News, quoth he? Nothing less man. Doth not the whole Kingdom ring of the spoil of many of its goodliest cathedrals, become Martyria, (objects of Martyrdom) by the fury and malice of such desperate wild Reformers as you and: your fellows, since these arms taken up, as at Winchester, Lincoln, Lichfield, Peterborough, 
*— En quò discordia Templa Perdaxit nitida—  etc. and is the serving the Canterburian Cathedral in the like kind, or worse, Cathedral News now? Away, mistaken man! away with your stolen news, stinking stolen indeed, if ever any, in the nostrils both of God and all good men, Profane wretch! abuse God's House, deface his Temple, and then vaunt, and boast, and brag on't? glory in your shame? triumph in your turpitude? make Ballads of it? add impudence to your sacrilege? 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, Cathedral News 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, News? No such matter, friend: 'tis but the second part of such Reformation-Newes from thence. The Reformation I wis, of that Cathedral by some friends of yours, begun (you know, and I fear the streets of Ascalon ring of it ere this time, how much more every corner of the Kingdom: 
D. Pask to the Earl of Holland, in August, 1642. ) well near two years since, the true story whereof recorded in a Letter written to a noble Lord from a worthy member of that Society (however scorned and slandered by your paltry pen, whilst you are not worthy to wipe his shoes) posterity cannot read, without a due mixture of wonderment, and detestation; detesting the action, whilst they wonder not so much (perhaps) at the actors as at the age they lived in, crying out with the Poet, O tempora! O mores!  
Well, 
What.  but the Canterburian Cathedral (for so he adds) is in an Abbey-like, corrupt, and rotten condition etc. What mean you, friend? the material structure, the Fabric? If so, 'tis true enough. Abbeys 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 Cathedral tend apace, thanks to you and your fellows Orderly Reformation, whereby it is exposed to the injury of all weathers, by removing its wont glazen shelter of a strange thickness, insomuch as, what with the Rain sometimes, with Snow another while, getting in at the broken windows in great abundance, corruption and rottenness have begun to seize on the walls. And for the Floor, in what a strange uncouth pickle it was, all the Church 
* The warm and well-seated Sermon-house itself (pag. 2.) not excepted.  over, with the great Snow the last winter, and both before and since with the rain, is too well known (I wish it were not) both to strangers and domestics: the story whereof (of that Orderly Reformation, I mean) is not now to write, though this be no time for truth, and true stories of this kind to show themselves. Veritas odium parit.  
But we mistake the man. This is no part of his meaning. 
Strange news, and why.  'Tis the Political not the material condition of the Cathedral he intends, the Constitution of the Society there. And is that your meaning, friend? Why then you tell us news indeed, and very strange news too; such as your farthel of arguments, à solis particularibus, à merè personalibus, shall never bear you out in. What? do you think to argue down a Society, a Corporation. a College, a Company, from the personal 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 miscarry? Shall we have no more Ministers, no more Magistrates, because of each sort some have been Delinquents? Doughty Logic! Or, to argue ad hominem: There have been rakehellie boys sometimes at the Canterburian Free-school, and such, that, for an offence of an high nature, being threatened with due correction, have taken Sanctuary in a 
* A shrewd sign of a bad cause; for Veritas non quaerit angu●os.  Bench-hole, etc. The same, or some other, when afterwards translated to the University, 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 Logic, that either the School or University must down for this?  
But to the News, 
Stranger yet.  the corrupt constitution of the Canterburian Cathedral. What strange news is here? This verily is novum & inauditum. No sober, no well-advised Protestant, before these times, ever said it. Pass you shall, for me, for the first that ever brought such tidings to the ears of any true son 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 term, and therefore in an happy hour the hand of providence sent a remedy, changing it from (what you call it) a nest of idolatrous, proud, lazy, covetous Monks, into a College of learned and religious Labourers in God's Harvest, yielding, 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 Foxes (Rome and Amsterdam) as are, or aught 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 sadness, 
The Canterburian Cathedral fruitful of famous men.  what think you of that blessed Martyr Ridley, your own term, and he deserves it) of M. Beacon, D. Bale, D. Whitaker, D. Saravia, M. Isaac Casaubon, D. Boys, D. Clerk, M. Wilson, to say nothing of Du Moulin, the famous French Divine, and others haply as deserving of the modern Society? These and many more such like, are known (one and all) to have been in their times successors of those unworthy Monks in this very Cathedral: but can you in cold blood, put on that more than brazen impudence, as to aver their imitation of them in practice at the same instant too when yourself (a burning and shining light) are in election to be of the Society? you may if you please; nay what do you less? when in plain terms you tell us, that these prelatical successors of the idolatrous, proud, lazy, covetous Monks, as they succeeded them in place, so they followed them in practice: and in a scurrilous, scandalous, base character, call the Society (the Cathedral Corporation,) A nest of non-resident; an Epicurean College of riot and voluptuousness; a School for compliment 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 scorn of the Laity: with many other expressions of that prodigious nature, 
Pag. 4, 13, 16, 20. etc.  both in your Epistle, and several other parts of your Pamphlet, such as Lucian himself 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 reflection. What others may conceive of it I know not, but I am persuaded 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 venom, cast dirt in the faces of their greatest Antagonists, and our chiefest Champions, the Chariots and the Horsemen of our Israel, the great and glorious Assertors of the True Reformed Protestant Religion.  
But that which follows in the Title, 
Miraculous News.  though not of so great concernment, yet is more strange still; The Archbishop of Canterbury's Passing-bell rung miraculously in that Cathedral. Here I would ask him; if he have this by his own observation, or by (others) information. It seems from neither: for saving here only in the Title, we hear 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 punctual (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 engagement to make it good either way, namely, by Observation of his own, or Information from others. And consequently, what have we more than his bare word for it? Ipse dixit. And this no doubt, (out of an overweening magisterial confidence given to the Tribe, priding themselves in a conceit of their arrival 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 belief here, as (out of an implicit faith) is usually afforded of the superstitious Lay-Priest, especially the Spaniard, to what his Father-Confessor avoucheth for truth, Well, whilst he expects what he pleaseth, say (Reader) is not there more Gate than 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 work itself? 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 nameless Libeler, no creeper into a Bench-hole, as one of his name once was, whence he was ferretted out at last, tanquam acusè speluncâ, and fetched down 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 God's word, dwelling in Canterbury; heretofore of Magdalen College in Cambridge, Master of Arts. And what is Dick Culmer turned Mercury now? Mercurius Cathedralis? Mercurius Antipraelaticus? 'twas wont to be said: Ex omni ligno non sit Mercurius. As for Dick Culmer, he is well known in those parts he speaks of for a sturdy, stout, rugged K— a man of his hands, and an able trencherman besides, in Cambridge, famous for football and swimming: 
* Otherwise infamous enough: Qualis Gramaticus, talis Academicus, semper idem, no versipellis.  but who ever thought him cut out for a Mercury before? as being for those abilities he hath, Marti aptior quam Mercurio, fit for to serve Mars then the Muses, & Harae quam Arae, the Hogs than the Gods, better at fight 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 took 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 trial and execution of a notable Malefactor and Countryman and namesake, Doct. Dick: a fair beginning was it not? to date his first essays from the Gallows. But see the man's popular itch? O, pulchrum est digito monstrari & dicier hic est. The Gallows, and a poor base felon shall be his theme, rather than fail of public notice. A Jove, no; A cruse principium, 'tis with him, and much good do't thee Dick, proceed and prosper.  Alpha tuum quale est Omega sitque tuum. 
Leaving his name, 
His-Colledge, and demeanour there.  proceed we to his title: heretofore of Magdalen College, etc. Since his is pleased to provoke me with the mention of his College, I cannot choose but mind him, and acquaint the Reader with a story of one of his name, sometime of that College: 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 cliffs by a rope fastened about his father's Cows horns feeding by the place, to seek for Daws nests (an adventure that hath hardened him ever since against all fear of harm by the rope:) 'twas (they say) a red haired, freckle faced fellow, Judas noun complexion, but no matter for that, caeteris imparibus: we use indeed to say that Vultus indicat animum, the index of the mind is the maws countenance, but we will answer that with a Froute nulla fides, 'tis uncertain aim that is taken by the countenance, the furest is the conversation. But to my Story: This Collegian getting him a bag (judas bore the bag) for the mending his commons with boiled, buttered 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 corn was stolen, but ignorant how or by whom, watched it one day, and took the thief damage pheasant; but let him first fill his bag, and then dogging him home to his burrow, the College, 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, got rods ready for his correction, locked the door to them to prevent his escape, so that in liklihood here was no way but one with poor 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 go too't, 
Scelue scelerae tulum.  he breaks lose from the Master and Butler both, gets him to the barrels, whereof there were divers then abroach, pulls out the spickets one after another, and whiles the Master and Butler, for saving the beer, busily bestirred themselves to stop these leaks, the key unhapily being left standing in the buttery door, the fellow turns it, and so escaped out of the buttery and College both, whither (as some say) he never returned more, being immediately, according to his just demerit, shamefully expelled. And (if our Richard be the man) whatever pride he may take in challenging that College for his nurse, or that University for his mother, neither of them doubtless can reap much comfort or credit by acknowledging him for their son.  
My reasons, if you ask them, besides what are premised, you may collect from the following character and description of the man, 
His vertves.  resulting from a posy of some of those rare virtues wherewith he is accomplished, by which he is known at home, and for which he deserves to be no less famous abroad then that notable pair of his predecessors Bale and Martin, (the one a seditious Priest in Richard the seconds days, the other a scurrilous Libeler in Queen Elizabeth's) 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 fare from slander, as himself 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. Refractoriness.  
2. Impudence.  
3. Covetousness.  
4. Hypocrisy.  
5. Clamourousnesse.  
6. Unnaturalness.  
7. Maliciousness.  
8. doltishness.  
9 Lying.    
And under these heads, as you shall have the man's life, (which 'twere pity a man of his part should want, and which added to his work, as the laudable manner is, when the authot's dead, as this man either is, or aught to be, might the gallows have its due, would much help to vent their thousands:) so likewise a sufficient answer to most of his accusations of value, his gross Lies especially, legible enough in every page and passage almost of that false Legend.  
To begin then with the first, 
7. Refractoriness.  his Refractoriness. Being born to few natural parts, and bred to less learning, and consequently wanting what might render him and his society acceptable and graceful to men of parts and worth, he betook himself 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 contemn their governor's and superiors, and to quarrel 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 Countrymen, as specification will be needless; nay I could not please him and his tribe better than to enlarge with instances, Irregularity and Inconformity to the present government (the fruits of Refractoriness passing in their account for such rare virtues as they pride themselves in nothing more in these times. I shall therefore harp no longer on that string, lest I make him and his fellows too much music, 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 mark. 
2. Impudence.  Having a competency of a natural audacity, the man hath much improved it with use and custom; having hereby arrived at such an height of habitual hardness, as he is become audax ad omne facinus. What action though of any modest sober man declined cometh anisse to him? As he is a great Athenian, 
3. Instance.  extremely given to hear 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 vain from one end of the week unto the other) like the News-cryes of London, or as it were some Equus meritorius, or the Cities of Veredarius, to hackney up and down all the Town with a piece of news that he likes, obtruding it upon his customers with that earnestness, and backing it with such asseverations (as, believe 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, etc. a little time having given the lie to all this confidence, and that not seldom, 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 kind, that tell them but of an unlikely, improbable, unexpected, strange occurrence, and you shall be answered straightway with a Proverb: θ, this is Culmers' news. 
A Proutrbe.  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 generals, to descend to some particulars.  
Was it not a prerty piece of shameless Impudence to aver (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 Choir of Christ-Church, to which the Communion Table stands, as formerly the high Altar did, which Screen he labours to demolish, did join sometime to (rebellious) Beckets shrine; and when the Burgesses gainsaid him, to persist and stand in it? though himself, as well as they, knew that Shrine and Screen never stood near each other by divers rods.  
What a strange piece 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 glass must be left standing in this Cathedral: 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 Lose is here? but qui semel verecundiae limites transierit, oportet ut graviter sit impudens.  
How should he be ashamed to charge the Quire-men (as he doth in the petition, 
4. Instance.  a witty pithy piece of his own noddles invention) with huddling over (what of late he loves so dearly) the Common Prayer? when he knows, and so do many more that he was as guilty of the same himself, 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 turn over Evening prayer, upon pretence of a long way home: 
* Going seven nules to suck a Bull; a proverb well understood in those parts.  (by the way note his Nonresidence, 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 clock (the accustomed hour) were come together, and yet threatening 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 possess the Parliament with the truth of what he hath fardelled up in those foul sheets, so as to get them licenced to pass and come abroad by their privilege and under their protection: when he is conscious to himself, and 'tis well enough known to his Countrymen, that never man abused the Parliament with such a miscellany, such a hodgepodge of falsehood, malice and slander, as by this pasquil he hath done? But of his printed Impudence more hereafter, when, by occasion of his News, we shall take him to do for his Lying. Thus then for his words, Qualis homo, talis sermo.  
As for his Actions, 
6. Instance.  who ever put fairer than himself for vivality in fame with infamous Horostratus (that, to get him a name, set fire of Diana's temple) to his surpassing Impudence in the whole acting of this cathedrals late shameful rifling, in order, I wis, to it's through reforming? who but he had the Impudence to thresh and clash down 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 boldness, (by his own confession) climbing ladders of no common height (a shorter one may serve his turn another day) no more scornful than himself (scoffing Lucianlike) in terms concerning our Saviour, and his Apostles figures at their pulling down? who forwarder than he shamefully to violate the sepulchers and monuments of the dead? who so ready as himself to fly in their faces, that expressed but the least dislike of his or his fellows wild demeanour in that (for the manner at least) scandalous and distasteful action, 
Note.  yea and bloody too, witness that sad occasion given to a poor boy to keep it in mind, by the loss of a couple of his fingers cut quite off, by the violent throwing to of an iron door, by some of the more furious instruments in that orderly Reformation? who but he made that place his Refectory, his dining room, the place of his repast at that time? being so sedulous, hot and intent upon the work, that to lose no time in following it, he took his bottle and bag with him to victual himself upon the place. If all this amount not to impudence, as perhaps with too many judges in these days it will not, I shall tell you now of Impudence with a witness, and I term it so, because I have it from an eyewitness of good credit, that, not without just scandal, saw the deed done, and will be ready, if lawfully required, to attest and justify the report with his corporal oath. 
7. Instance.  What do you think then of pissing in the open Church, and at noonday, in public view? what the heathens of old thought of such Impudence, their Poets will tell us, whereof one, thus: 
Pinge duos angues, pueri, sacer est locus, 
Pers. sat. 1.  extra  
Mejite—  And another, thus: 
Nec sitis apparet cur versus factitet, 
Horace. De arte Poet. versus finem.  ut cum  
Minxerit in patrios cineres—   
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:) nevertheless Ecce homo: we use to say sometimes Mutato nomine, etc. 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 Cathedral; the first essay I think that ever was known to the converting it to (what his black mouth doth not stick to call it) an Augean stable. What Christians heart abominates not this unheard of, profane, lewd impudence, and riseth not in detestation both of it and the author? what? the Temple, God's house, the place where his honour dwells, the gate of heaven, the house of prayer, a place to play the beast and piss in, for any, especially a Minister? Away profane, unhallowed, impudent wretch, away I by just demerit, if ever any, the shame of the Clergy, and the scorn of the Laity. Nor Satyrs, nor scourges can serve, Scorpions are fit to chastise and expiate thy prodigious impudence.  
— Abscissa viritia vellem  
Prodneus sobolem ne generando parem.  
Call you this orderly reformation? Is this a piece of that reformation which the Abbey like, corrupt and rotten condition of that Cathedral calls for? For shame, beast, recant, repent; till when be sure thou get'st no other esteem with me (whiles what others think of thee I pass not for) then of a piece of obstinate, obdurate, desperate Impudence.  
To proceed in our charge, Covetousness is his next mark. 
3. Covetousness. 1 Tim. 6.10. Col 3.5.  But is he covetously given then? why, covetousness is the root of all evil; nay it is Idolatry. And hath the wretch bestowed so much pains, spent so much time in purging away the numerous Idols, and sweeping them out of this Cathedral, in cleansing that Augean stable ('tis the language of the beast) yet is he himself an Idol-shepheard? Whilst he preaches to others, is himself likely to prove a castaway? Doth he preach down, pull down reputed, supposed Idols? and is he himself the whilst a real Idolater? The Major is clear 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 gross 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 certain term of years, he refuseth to take in the money, but will run out the time.] what think you of him (if I may ask the question) that having a visible fair estate, a liberal fortune, being worth, suppose a thousand or two thousand pounds, or more, as some, to whom his estate is not unknown, avouch, which he daily improoves, by the thriftiest, if not wretchedst courses he can take, and yet shall beguile and cousin his own sisters of their portions? shall go whining up and down, just like a mendicant Friar, and plead poverty and want of means, [witness the many visits he used to bestow upon his poor neighbours, (when he dwelled amongst them) at Herbaldown, to borrow a few pence to buy himself and family bread, one of those tricks whereby he wound himself so fare into the compassion of a neighbouring rich Matron, that in commiseration of his hence conceived penury, she made him her constant Almsman while she lived, and her Executor when she died.] shall betake himself to by, indirect, and unwonted, unwarranted ways for further improvement of his fortunes, seeking (against the Law of Nature and common Humanity; for Nemo debet locupletari cum aliened jacturd:) to enrich himself by other men's ruins: shall (because his desert before these times could never procure him any Benefice of his own) take advantage of the present opportunities to dispossess another man of his, flying sometimes at this, another while at that, and still you must note (like his fellows, followers of the same game with him) at the fairest Live in all the Country: You know, Sir 
Chatham. Ick ham.  who is true and legal 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 virtue, if at least rewarded upon a man by former times with any suitable preferment, are all too little for his protection from such envious eyes, snarling tongues, and undermining brains 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 covetousness prompts him, by malicious aspersions and false suggestions, by indefatigable, importunate, implacable machinations, and solicitations against him, to eject and supplant him: we know who's the Vicar would be. 'Tis (he shall be nameless) Dick Culmer, Minister of God's Word, dwelling in Cantorbury, heretofore of Magdalen College in Cambridge, Master of Arts. And can you blame him? O! 'tis a benefice like the Island, pleasant and fruitful. By the way note, that 'tis the oil of the full revenues of that Vicarage that the covets, 
Note.  bearing little or no affection to the Flock, but to the Fleece. And no marvel: for were the proportion of his love smaller, yet 'tis as much as he's like to have returned him from thence, his good conditions being so well known, 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 coming thither, having framed a Petition to the Parliament to that purpose, under most, if not all their hands. In the interim he stays his covetous appetitc, (as well as he can) with a morsel nearer home worth some 120 l per annum, or better, the Vicarage of S. Stephens near the City, whence by tricks 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, and thrust in his sickle there, though with as little success in point of acceptation with the people, as he is like to find at Minster, if ever his project or getting thither take effect, which when it happens, we'll all cry out with the Poet, Mopso Nisa datur; quid non supremus? These are pretty checks (one would think) to his covetous essays, if the eyes of his mind were not obstinately shut against them, of whose opening till I see some fruits, how can I choose, but from the premises, condemn the man of Covetousness?  
His next mark is Hypocrisy, 
● Hypocrisy.  whereof in a word: The dissembling his estate by daily pleas of poverty and want of means; his furious shows of zeal to Babylon's downfall, Babel's 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 disannulling one of the fairest cathedrals of Christendom; his seeming good affection to and compliance with the Parliament and Parliamentary cause and ways, his courting and countenancing the common people's humour, in their late anarchical practices: when all the world may see that all is done, Impostor like, merely for private ends, and to serve his own turn, merely to ingratiate and endear himself with the Parliament and people, merely as a bait, a net laid to catch the times applause, merely in ordine ad spiritualia, as a way, a course that may bring him at length to that spiritual preferment attended with temporal profit, his ambitious covetous mind too apparently aspires unto: whence can these proceed but from an heart full of base hypocrisy? Can any tree bear such fruits as that? Can you not run and read his hypocrisy?  
As for his clamorousness, 
5. clamorousness.  besides what arguments and evidences we have of it in Print, it hath always been his vain (for want of some of that Comeat-Physicke, which pag. 23. he prescribes and gives to others to cure them of the clamorous evil) to mouth his own grievances, though (for the most part) but pretended and imaginary, with so much voyse and clamour in all companies, as if his sufferings, when either small or none at all, (making Mountains of Molehills) were transcendent beyond all pattern, above all patience, for easier audience and access sake, ever pleading wife and children, and a great charge, to the consening of many, though not over credulous, into a firm belief of 〈…〉 and poor condition. Yet as clamorous as he 〈…〉, to others clamours none more deafe-eard than 〈◊〉 witness (for a taste) the dance he led a gentle woman 〈…〉, coming to demand some deuce of him, and not so 〈…〉 to be turned off with frivolous excuses, from his House 〈…〉 all the Town, as fare as the Blean, and then (to be rid 〈◊〉) showing her a pair of heels, who would not be shal●●● off until she saw the Fox burrowed in a thick wood.  
Et cum clamaret (quo nunc te proripis?) illae  
Red, Ricarde, meam, Tu post virgulta latchat.  
But whilst some are contented with this summary, me thinks I hear others call for a large narrative of this rare story: for whose satisfaction I will over it again more punctual 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 certain friends for arbitration, who awarded him to pay her a certain sum of money; the Gentlewoman, with her brother and his wife, comes one day to his house in Margaret's Parish, Canterbury, to make demand (in hope to receive) the a warded sum, and finding him at home, makes known her errand to him. The man (like himself) 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 busy at his study, being to preach the next Lord's day which was at hand, and therefore he could not now intent them. But the other Gentlewoman (one of a more masculine spirit then her sister, and fit therefore to encounter such a baffler) well knowing the man's 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 mere put off, for they had not forgotten the time when he could brag what an easy matter it was to him to make a Sermon; he could ride and study, and was able to make a Sermon on horseback; 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 think they would be answered so. The man perceiving their resolutions not to departed without money, and being as resolutely bend of his part to part with none, calls in all haste to his wife for clean band and cuffs, as if indeed he had intended a journey, which being brought him, and that not serving to rid them away, he takes his cloak, 
Culmers' progress,  and out of doors he flings, thinking to get lose of them; but it would not be: for after their Gentleman usher they all trudge, with repeated lewd demands of their money, who regardless of their close pursuit and clamours carries them on from street to street, measuring out one street after another, with such large strides and launching steps as that by what time he was gotten to Westgate-street or thereabouts, Mrs. B. and her brother (a fat burley man) were so fare cast behind, 
Or  and so outstripped 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 gain 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 think for a Gentlewoman, being ne'er 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 resolved 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 Town, and so out of that danger, he made bold to run other while, thinking so at last to cast her off: but 'twould not serve his turn, 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 taken 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 go whither he would she was resolved to follow, and would never leave him till she had (what she came for) her sister's money. Finding her still harping on that string, and being deaf of that ear, on again goes he, threatening to show her a course, if she would not be gone and leave him: why but (quoth she) you will not, I trow, be souncivill, having trained out a Gentlewoman thus far, but you will see her home: whereupon he bends his course straightway towards the house where he knew herself and sister dwelled, and when he had thus ushered her within or near the sight of the house, he gathers up his cloak about him, and with all the speed he could, makes to the side of a rough thicket, hard of access, especially for a Gentlewoman encumbered with long coats, and silken withal, apt to be torn with bushes and briars, and in there he rushes which when she perceived, bethinking herself of the difficulty of a further pursuit, she gives it over with this farewell to her game: Nay now I see the Fox is burrowed; e'en go thy ways then, and be hanged, for I'll follow thee no further. And so you have the story.  
Passing from whence, let's have at him for his Unnaturalness, 
6. Unnaturalness.  which indeed is so notorious and gross, 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 be added to aggravate that man's crime that is once justly taxed of Unthankfulness. And can any unthankfulness equalise (not to dream of transcending) that of a child to a parent? and wherein is or can that be better tried, then when need, especially if accompanied with old age, hath rendered the unfortunate parent a fitting object of his child's relief? and such a one is old Culmer, the Historians father, a poor 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 unnatural some of his, who now, in requital, so much neglects him (not for want of ability, but will to secure him) as the whole Island where he lives rings of the Impiety, whilst 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 marvel that he proves such a rebellious son to the Church, his mother, that is so unnatural a child to the poor aged man, his father.  
As for his Maliciousness. 
7. Maliciousness.  Not to insist on his continual suits in Law, being indeed a notable Vitiligator, & legis quam Evangelii peritior, a better Lawyer than Divine; I will trouble you but with one instance of it, which concerns 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 possible aggravation, accused him to the Council-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 between 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 own hand run) that, if we have such taxes laid upon us, we must rebel, or we must be feign to rebel, 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 profess therein to God, and his Sovereign Lord King Charles? for whom (saith he) I pray from the bottom of my heart (a hollow heart sure, 
Dick Culmer a Royalist.  without bottom (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 bore to the Service book, the catechistical part of it especially, (his steadiness and care to continue constant to those professions being so eminent) I may not here, without wronging the man, pass over in silence: which are these: Yet did I (quoth he) clearly manifest my loyalty, in that I did so publicly take his Majesty's part, (loyal Richard I well far thee) and in my Ministry I have showed (full sore, 
An Advocate for the Liturgy.  I doubt, against thy will) the like care; a special proof whereof I shown (till thou sawest thy time) in my short form of Catechism, which I used many years (before their eyes were opened) and resolve to use again (till time  serve thee to cast it off) if it please God to restore me to the exercise of my Ministry. Which form beginneth thus: Now we have learned to say the Catechism, etc. let us see more fully the meaning etc. Quest. What say you of our Catechism in the Book of Common Prayer? Answ. (Why, 'tis like the rest of the Book, Popish, Idolatrous, Superstitious trash, etc. no stay) The Catechism in our Book of Common Prayer is good, and commanded by the King's authority, 
Quanium mutatus ab illo!  and therefore we should all learn it, etc. (O thou limb of Antichrist! what Prelate of them all could have said more?) But ad rem. You have heard here of a heinous and capital charge from a vessel (of malice absit! no) of Loyalty of Conformity, like to produce what? but the ruin of the accused, by the forfeiture both of his estate and life. A sad tragedy towards doubtless. And yet to see, no such matter: for auditâ alterâ parte, when the accused came to his answer before as equal as honourable judges, he so fairly and fully purged himself of his foul, but false crimination, as brought the business to this issue, that the accused innocent Gentleman was absolved, dismissed, whilst his malicious unjust accuser was committed, imprisoned (a due reward for such a Perillus, 
Nec enim lex justior ulla,  
Quam necis artifices arte perire sua.)  As by the ensuing transcript of the Order of the Councel-board in that business will appear to the lasting shame and infamy of such odious malice, heightened in this, 
A treacherous guest.  that the place where these pretended dangerous words were uttered, was the accusers own table in Christmas time. No marvel that a Noble man, (one of the council-board) thereupon let fall this wish or deprecation rather: From such guests good Lord deliver me! Add hereunto that they were concealed, and not complained of, till almost half a year after, in revenge too, for the Gentleman's being (as was pretended) a means to dispossess his accuser of (what he mouths so much by the name of his Benefice) his Curatship, a little before his complaint preferred; which 'tis known he lost for refusing to read (what he hath since been heard to wish he had read) the book of Liberty. But to the transcript taken from the very original under seal. At Whitehall the 9 of Octob. 1635.  
Present 


Lo. Archbishop of Canterbury his Grace.  
Lo. Keeper.  
Lo. Privyseal.  
Earl Martial.  
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 appear and answer the same before their Lordship on Friday, the 9 of this present, this day both the said parties having been called and heard before the board: their Lordship's finding the said information and complaint against Mr. B. to have been causeless and unjust, did think fit and order, that he should be forthwith discharged from any further attendance concerning the same, and that the bonds by him entered into for his appearance should be delivered up unto him. Lastly, that the said R. C. should, for such his misinformation and abuse stand committed prisoner to the Fleet. 
* The 12 Tables would have condemned him to death: Qui falsum testimonium dixisse convictus erit, saxon Tarpeio descitor.  Ext. etc.  
And now (Reader) what think you of his Maliciousness? I conceive you expect no further evidence. Leaving that then, let's try him next for his doltishness.  
And for that, 
8. doltishness.  if he please, he shall have his book, let him be tried by that. What judicious man having read the promising Title page (where he finds the author arrogating the Title and degree of a Master of Arts) looks over the book, can refrain from a Scribimus indocti, doctique etc. of a Parturiunt montes etc. can conclude it to be other than a mere unworthy ridiculous piece, a pitiful poor, jejune, dry, dull, empty essay for a Master of Arts? Can he be thought other than a mere Ignoramus, a Duns, a Dullard, a Dolt, a Culmer that hath fardelled up a deal of bald, bold, base, virulent, scurrilous stuff, as void of learning, as of truth, as void of method as full of malice, written surely with ink mixed and made of vinegar and kennel water, 
A foul pen.  and fit 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?  Quid dignum tanto tulit hic promissor hiatu? 
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 hay then up go we. If it please their palates, and take well with them, satis est superque; having never yet learned (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 mere 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. Ask about in the places of his greatest concourse, amongst those, if you will, that best affect him, and you shall never find their respect, their affection towards him grounded upon any learning or Scholarlike parts that he is guilty of. 'Tis confessed of all hands, that he is a very mean, dry, dull preacher, a worse disputant, and for the pen, fit liber Inden, I appeal to his book. What it is that hath commended him to their affection, and begat their esteem of him is, his forwardness to hear and carry news, 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 himself. 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 Scholarship as errand a blockhead as himself, for conversation (it may be) somewhat loser, much taxed for a notorious Liar, and so noted for it at the University, that a common noted Liar, by a new invented Proverb amongst them, was nicknamed after him; how well he deserved it, I partly know, but how our scribbler, Dr. Dick, deserves the like, all the City, and parts adjacent, by long experience of his common, customary, habitual lying, know so well, that were it put to the vote there, whether or no a notorious Liar should be called a Culmerist, I dare warrant you it would be resolved upon the question, perquàm paucis contradicentibus, in the affirmative. Whence else our common Proverb of Culmers' News, 
A Proverb.  taken up for an odious untruth, a loud 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 falsehoods, the just reward of a known convicted 
* Mendax ho● lucratur, ut cùm vera dixerit, ei non credatur. Arist. apud Diog. l. 5  liar. By the way, tell me, are we not like to have Peace and Truth meet apace, the hearty and unfeigned wish of all good Protestants, and true Patriots, whilst these hypocrites mouth nothing more, mean nothing less: are not these (I say) like to meet and greet apace, when, lest our peace should return, before their ends, their turns are served, to continue their dismal distance, we must have such fomenting of divisions, such flattering of parties with Lies, lies by the living, lies by the dead, lies from the Press, and (would I could not say) lies from the Pulpit too? But all this while we speak without book: It's sure going by the book, saith Dick. Let's then from his verbal, transient lies (whereof somewhat 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 taste 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 bears the bell from all the rest, 
1. Instance.  the Passing-bell; and to pass 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 Amanuensis, who lead the Petitioners into a manifest untruth, when he made them certify, that Doctor etc. was Parson of Heath, Parson of Ickham, Parson of Well, Parson of Salt wood, etc. and Doctor etc. Parson of Back-Church in London, Parson of Barham in East-Kent near Dover, Parson of Bishopsbourne, etc. when he knows, as well as hundreds more in those parts, that as Hith and Salt would are but one and the same Parsonage, Ickham and Well another, so Bishopsbourne and Barham are no more, though he reckon the Chappells as several and distinct Parsonages, (one of which, Well, is long since desolate) and marshal them so fare asunder, that his fallacious and unfaithful dealing may be the better hid. To let these things pass, I say, and come to his Pamphlet.  
What an impudent lie is that, 
〈◊〉. Instance.  pag. 4. where, with saucy language towards most of the Bench, whom he calls malignant and Prelatical Justices, he affirms that they so bestirred themselves, that the arraigned Cathedralist was ('tis plain, he means unjustly) acquitted? when it is notorious in the Country (and we have nothing but his bare word in contradiction) that the business had a square, fair trial, and the prisoner, by an whole dozen of honest and unbyaced Jurymen, was legally a quitted. Thus for the text. Now what saith the margin? Why, A Cathedral lass beguiled by a Singing-man. Like text, like margin, both false. The beguiler, he knows, (nor is it unknown to Town and Country) was no Singing-man, but a Townsman a Chirurgeon, 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 falsify so grossly, what truth may we expect from his stories of occurrences pretending to 30. or 40. years standing? Withal, see what a tale he hath here chosen to begin with, to defile his own nest 
* Turdus sibi malum cacat.  withal, like a cursed Cham, to discover his father's shame, by reviving the story of his quondam-questioning for beguiling a wench, in those days called begetting a bastard, which otherwise was well nigh buried in oblivion. Doubtless (friend) neither Father nor 
* Cui pater est populus, non habet ipse pa●rem.  Fatherless 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) prithee, man, tell me (as you are an excellent Casuist) what may be thought of their children that marty themselves? 
The validity 〈◊〉 new-fashioned marriages debated.  (as a precious pair of your acquaintance lately did in Canterbury:) or of theirs either, which you and your fellows use of late to couple, and put together (marrying you would have it called) after an upstart, new-fangled (I should say reform) way of your own devising; with utter detestation, waving that of the Church of England, both in point of what is to precede the solemnisation (publishing of Banes, etc.) and in the solemnisation itself (the Form 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 judgement of sober men, regulating their opinions by the Law of the Land, may be thought thereof? or how shall it be justified? when the policy of this State hitherto (for I speak not of the future, not knowing what tomorrow may bring forth) allows not of (what their legitimation depends on) their parent's intermarriage in such a case.  
And doth not the like scruple offer itself in point of dower? 
2 As to the widow's dower.  For, suppose that after such a mock-marriage, the goodman dying, the widow be put to sue for her dower, and consequently to plead the accouplement en loyal matrimony, I would fain know how in this case she shall be able to justify her plea, being married after such a sort as the Church of England (to whose connusance the State transfers the plea) is so fare from approving, that the parties so coupled, in her construction, (if those that know her mind, I mean, Lawyers, may be credited) are so fare from being man and wife in foro fori, that if in foro conscientiae they find no tie upon them to the contrary, they may even forsake and leave each other when they please, without control. 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 judgement not impertinent, not borrowed from either Plato's Commonwealth, or Sir Tho. Mores Utopia, but of that reality and certain truth, that 'twill be no news 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 fare 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 solemnising their nuptial rites, they must needs, forsooth, be married (for so the maid's father will have it) after the new fashion, without ask, 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 pair, 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 real marriage; which the young man perceiving, and being unsatisfied both with the way of his marriage, and with the sum of his wife's 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 clear of all conjugal bands, and no way obliged to nuptial duties, forsakes his pregnant bedfellow, 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 himself: so that, in short, for his part, actum est de connubio, he'll no more of the match, unless (for, after much ado, to these terms 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 sum might be added as he required, and that they might withal be married after the old orderly manner, in the legal way of the Church of England: upon which conditions, and not otherwise, he would take her for his wife again, and use her as became an husband. The old amazed Father-in-law finding himself thus unexpectedly caught, 
Wily beguiled.  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 virtue of necessity, condescended to these harsh demands, pays down what money was required, and suffers a second (that is, a right and orderly) solemnisation of his daughter's marriage to the same man, being well laughed at for his pains; and whether served in his kind or not, let any but his peers, such innovating coxcombs as himself, 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 woman's part, whose portion being in her brother's hands, and he refusing to part with it, unless verily she would take an husband of his choosing (a zealous brother, forsooth, whom she affected not, being indeed in league with another man before:) she cunningly dissembles her consent, so as upon the wedding-day she might herself 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 entering the nuptial genial bed, he should go to bed first: he did so; then (having taken a former opportunity to convey her marriage-money into her fore-intended husband's hands) she pretends an occasion to go down, leaving the poor mistrustless gull in bed, expecting her return, and making sure account to exchange a maidenhead with his Bride that night; who intending nothing less, and having provided all things in a readiness for her escape, gets her away after her money, and the next day, or shortly after, became his lawful 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 again pag. 6. to stop the Liars mouth, and satisfy such as are capable of it, sober men, the truth of that business is shortly thus: The late Duchess Dowager, of Lenox (no Papist, I know unless her pious legary must make her so esteemed,) amongst some other like bequests, contained in her will, giving to this Cathedral 100 pound sterling, at such time as the Society was in consultation for repairing some decays about the ornaments, and utensils of their Church; the back-cloth upon the Screen, or Traverse, being much discoloured, with age, and the Screen itself a goodly piece of carved Tabernacle-worke, 
The Screen,  which though overlaid with gold, yet when stripped of the imagery that sometime 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 being gone also to some decay; with this 100 pound legacy, and somewhat added to it of their own, they purchased a new cloth of purple velvet, and hung it up in the room of the other; repaired the decays of the gold about the Screen; and for the further adorning of the cloth, and minding the beholders of the deadfulnesse and sacredness of that place, not in itself, but from the high and sacred Agends there, for the better seasoning and preparing the approachers minds with fitting thoughts and meditations in their addresses thither (fear and reverence being to walk hand in hand with faith and repentance in that sacramental action) purposed and took order to have embroidered on it in gold and silver, what? why even no more than is pensilled in as glorious a manner at the head of most chancels in London, above the Decalogue, the glorious and dreadful name, Jehovah, with suitable embellishments. And what matter is there in all this of scorn, of clamour, of making the world believe 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 aver that the Cathedral gates were shut a day or two for his rescue and defence against the Magistrate and People, 
4. Instance.  etc. 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 heaved off and laid by. Nor did the party ever hid himself, or was concealed by the Cathedrallists, as he pretends, but when demanded by the City-Magistrates, presently yielded 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 pass his Lie of the Mutiny at Canterbury, 
5. Instance.  recorded pag. 12. a thing that never was above ground; see how he falters and falsifies in his Winters-tale concerning the fall of the Vane and Pinnacle, pag. 13. going about to persuade strangers (he cannot those that live upon the place, and know the contrary, & so dare tell 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 wind) a good distance from the steeple, and fell upon the roof of the Cloister, in which Cloister the Arms of the Archbishopric of Canterbury were carved and painted on the lower side or concave of the arch or ceiling of the Cloister; which Arms in the Cloister were dashed in pieces by the Arms which fell from the Pinnacle of the steeple. The Arms of the present Archbishop (so he sums it up) broke down the Arms of the Archbishopric or Sea of Canterbury: adding in the next page, that the Cathedrall-men repairing the broken Cloister, gilded and painted the arch over head as it was before: but (saith he) they have made other Coat-Armes in the room of the Arms of the bishopric, because they would conceal the strange ruin of those Arms. Mendax lingua quò vadis? for here is lie upon lie, one in the neck of another, sic unda supervenit undam, and those, for a taste of his Poetical learning, summed up in the close with certain capering times, to give his Readers palate some variety, or rather for the lies better authorising: for Pictoribus atque Poetis, etc. what Privileges Poets and Painters have in this kind, is notorious. Would you know the truth? Then thus it was. About the time he speaks of, 
Truth cleared 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 near the place; the supereminent place of their chosen positure, yielding great advantage for a vast latitude of public aspect. Of these ('tis true) that with the Archbishop's Arms upon it, in that great storm on S. John's 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 less against it, is most false; since who yet observes may see, they fell directly down into that corner of the Cloister underneath, almost contiguous to the very pillar of the steeple which supports both Pinnacle and Vane.  
What he adds (that in their fall, they bore or broke down the Arms of the Archbishopric carved and painted on the lower side or concave of the arch, or feeling of the Cloister etc.) is a lie as notorious as the former, there never being any Arms of the Archbishopric either carved or painted in the place of the breach; nay no Arms at all, but such ordinary work as in the rest of the untouched roof on all parts thereabouts is at this day to be seen. 'Tis true there was on the one hand of the breach, the Arms of the noble house of Arundel quartered with another coat, as there was of some other (or a plain shield rather) on the other side, and those are standing still, undemolished by the fall: but for other Arms there or thereabouts, of the Archbishopric especially, though magisterial Richards own self aver it, yet (if 
* Cuilibet in sua arte, perito esse credendum  Heralds and others may be credited to whom the Cloister with the Arms about it, by curious and frequent observation taken of both, before this breach was made, was and is better known then ever to him, or any of his tribe) he lies as grossly, as the man you wot of that told us of the miraculous ringing of the Archbishop's passing-bell, or as he that talks of eating a Sack-posset out of the Cathedral basin, 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 book of Liberty. shortly after drowned himself. Nor doth he otherwise when he assigns the reason for taking down all the other three Vanes, to be Cathedrallists policy, for taking away the observation and remembrance of that downfall, which concerned their gracious Diocesan, and great Cathedral so much. Whereas the known and only cause hereof was, an experience by this unhappy accident, of the weakness and inability of the slender pinnacles to support them in stormy weather, without endangering the steeple: a thing, from the very first, so much feared of the most of the Churchmen, that, but for the forwardness of some one or two, (whereof the one in Office for that year, who afterwards smarted for such his forwardness, being at his passing his accounts, 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.  Fiddlers, Tapsters, and other friends of the Cathedral and Prelatical party at Canterbury, were for the Archbishop's Secretary to be Burgess there etc. how saucy and false too is he in that assertion? when 'tis known, nay the fellow knows it himself, that the then Mayor, all the Aldermen, but one, most of the Common Counsel, besides divers prime Citizens and Freemen, that were neither Proctors, Fiddlers, nor Tapsters etc. gave, or were ready to have given their voices for the Gentleman's election. By the way, friend, how rude and uncivil (not unlike yourself in this saucy term reflecting, if you mark it, upon no small number of your good Masters) the opposite party was in that action, I report me to the indifferent and sober party 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 Cathedral stuff heard at Christ-Church, as before this blessed Reformation, etc. What he means by such epitheted stuff I know not. But 'tis too well known to Town and Country, that since this blessed Reformation, since the settling this able and orthodox Ministry, as he calls it, since these young beardless boys came thither to preach in Quirpo, since this change of Aenea pro aureis, of Dross for Gold, there hath been and is such strange matter delivered there for Doctrine, such upstart new-fangled stuff for Discipline, as startles many sober, orthodox, 
New Cathedral preaching, new.  well-affected Christians to hear, One cries down the Liturgy (the Service-Book established by Act of Parliament) with stolen, threadbare, long since refuted, exploded arguments, picked from the scurrilous, libellous papers of Martin Marprelate, T. C. and their fellows. 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 Cuckoo; this this to the sweet and changeable tunes of the 
* The 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 than one, and with more than ordinary violence too, and demonstration of the spirit of contradiction of the orthodox Doctors and Doctrine of our own 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 less paradoxically, a CHURCH here upon earth without spot or 
† And is not here brave sport for the Romanists? we that were wont to upbraid them with their half Communions, are now come to fall short of that, and deny all. Besides, what's become of that Note which we 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 form of Church-government, but that wild one of Independency, protesting, and declaiming against all other forms as repugnant to holy Scripture. Thus they preach, and will you hear now a little of their Praying?  
Tickets come to them from this and that good Sister thick and threefold, 
And Praying.  one must be (and was) remembered and commended in a thanksgiving to Almighty God for an overflowing measure of the spirit in her, (to the admiration you may think 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 orthography and sense, 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 Arms, and engaging his person as a Soldier on the King's party: Prayers, for what? why, that he shut not his eyes again, 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 public and private, having caught a clap of late, besides the prayers made in her behalf, both here and elsewhere, how did one of these Orthodox Ministers, tooth and nail, omni cum valido su●, bestir himself in a Sermon the next Lord's day, 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. whilst some of the Sisterhood, hearing how the tongues of certain of their own tribe were lavish in the censure of their collapsed Sister, and in such terms too as tended to the discredit of their righteous profession, tender of the consequence, laboured to dissuade them from such scandalous censures, condiscending to have her called Whore, but not, 
Censured.  as some would term her, Round-head-Whore. And is not the world well mended, my Masters, at Christ-Church, since this able and Orthodox Ministry was settled there? doth not the Historian justly, worthily celebrate this alteration? A remedy indeed as bad, if not worse than the disease, not through the Physician's fault though, but theirs rather, who like pragmatical patients, will take no Physic but of their own prescribing, admit of no Pastors but of their own recommending; a mischief which the wisdom 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 reassumed again, 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, Rudeness: but since they are glanced at before, and you may nauseate what you have already, such unsavoury stuff it is, and chief lest some overcurious Anagrammatist should please himself too much with picking out his name (Richard Culmer) from the first letter of each word in this goodly Poesy put together, which, to avoid the giving such a hint, I have ex professo, and of purpose, marshaled otherwise then they lie in the man's name, and that somewhat may be reserved for a second edition, if he should provoke it, by obtruding his News upon us a second time, I will stop here, neither fowling my own fingers, 
The Cathedralists accusers competency debated.  nor blasting others ears 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 asked what you think of the competency of the Cathedralists Accuser, now that you have seen him unmased? Is not Dick Culmer a fitting man to accuse other men, and in that bitter, satirical, sarcastical pharisaical way too, 
Quis tulerit Gracchum?  that is so many ways obnoxious to just reproof himself? to record, to make a Register of Cathedral evils, of Cathedralists vices, that is so great a stranger to all virtue himself? Were it not a great deal fit, while the hypocrite is pulling Motes out of his brother's eyes, or pulling out their eyes rather, if that will content him, for 'tis their extirpation only, not reformation will serve his turn, that he were casting Beams out of his own? Was there so little choice, that a more righteous man than he could not be found, on whom to lay the Province? In reason such a Censor should himself be rectus in curia, nay integer vitae, scelerisque purus, some Cato, or an Aristides, a man of exemplary justice, and moral integrity. It was indeed the saying of as honest a man sometime as himself: 
Machiavelli.  Accusa fortiter, haerebit aliquid. Accuse home be sure, and doubtless thou shalt not lose thy labour. But then, as generally in cases of this nature, the Accuser ought himself to be integrae famae, a man without exception. Shall a Jew accuse a Jew? Claudius cannot pass for a competent accuser of a Moechus, nor Catiline of Cethegus. Amongst the list of just exceptions by the Civil Law serving to repel an accuser, I have met with these: 1. Infamy, 2. Capital Enmity, 3. Guiltiness of the same crime, and 4. Sacrilege. 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 mean) I shall not doubt to find both the Accuser and his Accusation (the News and the Newes-monger) accordingly esteemed with indifferent Judges.  
As for the Proctor's book, 
The Proctor's 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 think had as little relation to him) I should have thought myself more obliged to have said somewhat in his defence, however for the book itself, I will say so much for truth's sake, that I have heard many whom I took to be judicious men, and well-affected to the Public, speak 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 own 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 Book) time may come, when the Proctor may do him a special courtesy. Friends, you may one day be beholden to him, (since you talk of Books) for that book of mercy (if it be not above your learning, being written in Latin) to prevent an ascent upon the fatal Ladder, which your readiness to come up the first, and your feats upon it, may sooner bring you than you are yet ware of. A rope was then as a bridle about your loins, take heed it get not up higher and prove hereafter a Collar for your neck. Dick! you bade the Prelate remember the Pinnacle, but me thinks I hear somebody make you this return: Plunderer! remember you went beyond your Commission: And indeed, 
A jeer retorted  (friend Richard) as much as you joy and scoff at the hearing of the Cathedrall-Gates, look it come not to that pass one day, that you wish the City-Gates, nay the Kingdomes-Gates, (the Ports stood as wide open as these, when one pair of heels may be worth two pair of hands, when an escape away may prove your best sanctuary against such a legal trial by the known Laws of the Land, as may turn you over to Tiburne-Faire. And then Bones Noches, good night Dick. In the mean time, Clama, declama, exclama usque ad Ravim— Rumpantur ut Ilia.  
Bark, bellow, bawl; do even thy worst,  
Till both thy bowels and thy belly burst.  
FINIS.   

A Copy of the Information presented to the Council-table by Richard Culmer, against M. E. B. whereof mention is made before, Parag. Maliciousness, Numb. 7.  
I Herd M. E. B. of B. in the parish of G. next W. speaking of the Ship-taxes, 
Culmers' first charge against M. B. for speaking against the Ship-Sesses.  say, that such and such places were taxed so much, and some so much etc. and in the end he said, that if we have such taxes laid upon us we must rebel, or we must be feign to rebel, or to this effect punctually, and hearing him say so, I said, that if we considered our burden with others compared, we had no cause to think of Rebellion. The next occasion I could find I called him aside after Evenning-song, and gave him the best admonition I could, telling him, that I could not hear such words but with detestation, and said, that as a Subject, and a Minister, and a Guest, I was bound to tell him what I did, and entreated him for the Lord Jesus Christ's sake, that he would forbear such speeches, else I would never come to his house more, with other speeches to this effect. He replied, did I say so? yes said I, that I did hear you say; ask your wife and friends at home. After that he never spoke word of it more, till, I heard of late, he in a passion against me, at some meeting, railing upon me, hoping to get my 
Your Curatship, good Richard!  Benefice for his Cousin H. by my 
The very ●rade you ●rive yourself 〈◊〉 this day.  ruin, he there, as I heard by credible Information, amongst other vile comparisons and speeches against me, said, that he invited me to his house at Christmas, and afterwards I called him aside, and would have him accuse himself, but he spoke words of sedition, when as I did it not to bring him into a snare; If I had, I would have called witness, when 〈…〉 shed him, but the Lord knoweth I did it out of 〈…〉 duty to God and my Sovereign Lord King Charles, for whom I pray from the bottom of my heart, that the Lord would preserve him from seditious, and rebellious men. And my wife saith, she well remembreth the same speech of his and mine at the Table.  
And I heard the said M. B. say, 
His second charge against him, in behalf of the Book of Sports.  having read over the book of Sabbath-Recreations, and delivering it to me before Evensong in the Church, I asked him if he had read it, he replied, yes, it will make a good privy seal. And my wife and I heard him in our own house say of the said book, that it was, as if a Schoolmaster should say: it is a good boy, ply thy book and thou shalt go to play in the afternoon. And I and my servant heard him say, that it was unfit such books should be sent for Ministers to read in the Church: yet after he had a project to get my Benefice, he to collogue for it, said in my hearing that it was a good book, and if it were read the Sabbath would be better kept then ever it was. Dated July the 31. 1635.  
Per me Rich. Culmer.