A04474:4064
A reply unto M. Hardinges answerA replie vnto M. Hardinges ansvveare
A reply unto M. Hardinges answer by perusing whereof the discrete, and diligent reader may easily see, the weak, and unstable grounds of the Romaine religion, which of late hath been accounted Catholic. By John Jewel Bishop of Salisbury.A replie vnto M. Hardinges ansvveare by perusinge whereof the discrete, and diligent reader may easily see, the weake, and vnstable groundes of the Romaine religion, whiche of late hath beene accompted Catholique. By Iohn Iewel Bishoppe of Sarisburie.
Imprinted at London : In Fleetestreate, at the sign of the Black Oliphant, by Henry Wykes, Anno. 1565Imprinted at London : In Fleetestreate, at the signe of the Blacke Oliphante, by Henry VVykes, Anno. 1565
Modern spelling is a reading aid: the words are the author’s, only the spelling is modernized. Original shows the page as printed, with the transcription marks.
But, it was not you, M. Harding: it was the time. If the time had been one, you had still continued one. But ye were forced to know, that ye knew not: and to think, that ye thought not: and so, to believe, that ye believed not. How be it, S Hilarie saithe, Quae ex necessitate est, Fides nō est: Forced Faithe is no Faith.
But, it was not you, M. Hardinge: it was the time. If the time had beene one, you had stil continued one. But ye were forced to know, that ye knewe not: and to thinke, that ye thought not: and so, to beleeue, that ye beleeued not. How be it, S Hilarie saithe, Quae ex necessitate est, Fides nō est: Forced Faithe is no Faithe.
Ye say, Who so ever shall attempt to answer your Book, shall sweat in vain. His labour shall be, as was the Commendation of Baldness, or of Ignorance, or of Folly: as a flourish, as a Smoke, as a Smother, and as, I know not what. The force of your Eloquence is so invincible: No Trueth is able to withstand it. Such affiance ye would seem to have in the beauty of your Cause.
Ye saye, VVho so euer shal attempte to ansvveare your Booke, shal sweate in vaine. His labour shalbe, as vvas the Commendation of Baldenesse, or of Ignorance, or of Folie: as a floorishe, as a Smoke, as a Smooder, and as, I know not what. The force of your Eloquence is so inuincible: No Trueth is hable to withstande it. Suche affiance ye woulde seeme to haue in the bewtie of your Cause.
Here, I beseech you, give me leave, once again to put you in remembrance of the Contents, and Substance of your travails. Think you in soothe, M. Harding, or would ye have us to think, that your maimed Allegations: your untrue Translations: your wrested Expositions: your Councils never holden: your Canons never, nor made, nor seen: your Epistles never Written: your Amphilochius, your Obadiah, your Clemens, your Leontius, your Hippolytus, and other like fabulous pamphlets, and forgeries, so lately found out, so long lacked, and never missed: your Additions, your Diminutions, your Alterations, your Corruptions of the Doctors: your Contrarieties, and Contradictions against your self: your Surmises, your Guesses, your Dreams, your Visions: your Elenches, your Fallacies, your silly Syllogisms, without either Mood, or Figure, or Sequel in Reason: and, to conclude, your Untruths, so plain, so evident, so manifest, and so many can never be answered? Is Simple Trueth become so weak? Or, is Error, and Falsehood grown so strong?