There came by of late a good honest Minister, with a cloake hauing sleeues: ah (quoth a Martinist, sitting on a bulke in Cheapside) he is a knaue I warrant you, a claspe would become one of his coate to claspe his cloak vnder his chinne. Where tis to be noted, that they come in with a sleeueless conscience, and thinke it no good doctrine which is not preached with the cloak cast ouer each shoulder like a rippier. Twas a mad knaue and a Martinist that diuided his sermon into 34 parts for memorie sake, and would handle but foure for memorie sake, and they were, why Christ came, wherefore Christ came, for what cause Christ came, and to what end Christ came; this was all for memorie sake. If that Martin could thatch vp his Church, this mans scabship should bee an Elder, and Elders they may bee, which being fullest of spungie pith, proue euer the driest kixes. For in time you shall see that it is but a bladder of worldlie winde which swells in their hearts, being once prickt, the humour will quicklie be remoued, O what a braue state of the Church it would be for all Ecclesiasticall causes to come before Weauers and Wierdawers, to see one in a motlie Ierkin and an apron to reade the first lesson. The poore Church should play at vnequal game, for it should loose al by the _Elder_ hand. Nay Mas Martin, weele make you deale, shuffle as well as you can, we meane to cut it. If you had the foddring of the sheep you would make the Church like Primero, foure religions in it, and nere one like another. I cannot out of his gaming humour. Why? Is it not as good as Martins dogged humour, who without reuerence, regard, or exception, vseth such vnfitting tearmes, as were hee the greatest subiect in England hee could not iustifie them. Shut the doores (sirs) or giue me my skimmer, Martins mouth had sod vnskimde these twelue months, and now it runnes ouer; yet let him alone, he makes but porredge for the diuell. His Elderberines though it be naught worth, yet is it like an elderberrie, which being at the ripenes of a perfect black, yet brused staines ones hands like bloud. They pretending grauitie in the rottennes of their zeale, bee they once wrung, you shall finde them lighter than feathers. Thats a simile for the slaues. Nay, Ile touch them deeper, and make them crie, O my heart, there is a false knaue among vs. Take away this beard, and giue me a pickede vaunt, Martin sweares by his ten bones: nay, I will make him mumpe, mow, and chatter, like old Iohn of Paris garden before I leaue him.