XXXVII. Though both Nature and Grace inclined me to hate Lying, and specially in Writers and Preachers, and I honoured Jul. Caes. Scaliger the more, because his Son Joseph tells us how vehemently he hated a Lie, so that he could not be reconciled to a Liar, yet I confess that my impatience herein was faulty. It was long before I well perceived that the Father of Lies, doth Govern his Kingdom (most of the World) by mere Lying: Call it Error, or Mistake, or Falsehood, or what you will, all signifieth the same thing: It is delivering Falsehood for Truth. Christ had told us that the Devil is the Father of Lies, and when he speaketh a Lie, he speaketh his own. Deceit is by Lying, and by this he ruleth his World. As God's Image consisteth in Life, Light and Love, the Devil's Image is Hatred. Falsehood and Hurtfulness or Murder, Joh. 8 But alas to take this for some strange thing, and to be over-impatient with Liars, was my fault, when now I find it is but the very state of corrupt unrenewed Nature: And Pride the Father, and Ignorance the Mother, make Kingdoms, Cities and Persons like a rotting Carcass that swarms with Maggots. You that read Histories, read with Judgment and due Suspicion; for the common corrupt Nature is a lying Nature: And it is not about Religion only; but the Fool rageth and is confident in all his Errors. O what abundance of Lying Books ⟨p. 27⟩are Shops and Libraries filled with, even in History and Theology! What abundance of false Counsels do Physicians give! what abundance of false accusations doth Envy and Malice vend? What abundance of false Doctrines and Censures doth ignorant Sectarian Zeal foment? How many Lies for one Truth is carried for News, or for Slander about the Streets? And how few scruple receiving and reporting them, & how fewer rebuke them? It's useful for the World to know how common this Malady is, but it was almost in despair that I lately wrote a Book against it, of pretended Knowledge and Love) I blame not my self for hating it, but being too impatient with it; especially in Books and Preachers, as if it had been a strange thing.
XXXVII. Though both Nature and Grace inclined me to hate Lying, and specially in Writers and Preachers, and I honoured Jul. Caes. Scaliger the more, because his Son Joseph tells us how vehemently he hated a Lie, so that he could not be reconciled to a Liar, yet I confess that my impatience herein was faulty. It was long before I well perceived that the Father of Lies, doth Govern his Kingdom (most of the World) by meer Lying: Call it Errour, or Mistake, or Falshood, or what you will, all signifieth the same thing: It is delivering Falshood for Truth. Christ had told us that the Devil is the Father of Lies, and when he speaketh a Lie, he speaketh his own. Deceit is by Lying, and by this he ruleth his World. As God's Image consisteth in Life, Light and Love, the Devil's Image is Hatred. Falshood and Hurtfulness or Murder, Joh. 8 But alas to take this for some strange thing, and to be overimpatient with Liars, was my fault, when now I find it is but the very state of corrupt unreneved Nature: And Pride the Father, and Ignorance the Mother, make Kingdoms, Cities and Persons like a rotting Carkass that swarms with Maggots. You that read Histories, read with Judgment and due Suspicion; for the common corrupt Nature is a lying Nature: And it is not about Religion only; but the Fool rageth and is confident in all his Errours. O what abundance of Lying Books ⟨p. 27⟩are Shops and Libraries fill'd with, even in History and Theology! What abundance of false Counsels do Physicians give! what abundance of false accusations doth Envy and Malice vend? What abundance of false Doctrines and Censures doth ignorant Sectarian Zeal foment? How many Lies for one Truth is carried for News, or for Slander about the Streets? And how few scruple receiving and reporting them, & how fewer rebuke them? It's useful for the World to know how common this Malady is, but it was almost in despair that I lately wrote a Book against it, of pretended Knowledge and Love) I blame not my self for hating it, but being too impatient with it; especially in Books and Preachers, as if it had been a strange thing.
