But when it hath been their practice so to do; when they have debauched men’s understandings, overturned all morals, and destroyed all divinity, what shall I say of them? When their humility is such that they tread upon the necks of emperors; their charity such as to kill princes, and their vow of poverty such as to covet kingdoms, what shall I say to them?... This is a religion that quite unhinges all piety, all morality, and all conversation, and to be abominated by all mankind.”[721] Yet Scroggs’ language was no stronger than that of his brothers on the bench. Jeffreys in sentencing Ireland, Wild in sentencing Green, Jones in sentencing Tasborough attained an exactly similar style. At the trial of Penn and Mead in 1670 the court was at least equally ill-mouthed, and nothing ever heard in a court of justice surpassed the torrents of venomous abuse which Coke, as Attorney-General, poured upon the head of Raleigh at his trial in 1603. One fact in judicial procedure exercised an immense influence on the nature of speeches from the bench. The judges took no notes.[722] In summing up the evidence they relied solely upon memories developed for this purpose to an extent which seems almost marvellous. But another result besides this remarkable mental training was that in his summing up the judge had no set form by which to direct himself. There was not the constraint which comes from the necessity of following a definite guide on prosaic slips of paper. It followed that the whole of this part of his work was far more loose and undefined than it has come to be since the additional burden of taking notes has been imposed. Not only could he, but it was natural that he should, break off from the course of the evidence to interpose comments more or less connected with it; and in the days of little learning and violent religious prejudice, the judge’s comment was likely to take the form of abuse of the creed which he did not profess.