ey will be offended
with me then. Yet must I speak. For is there not reigning in London as
much pride, as much covetousness, as much cruelty, as much oppression,
and as much superstition, as was in Nebo? Yes, I think, and much more
too. Therefore I say, repent, O London; repent, repent. Thou hearest
thy faults told thee, amend them, amend them. I think, if Nebo had had
the preaching that thou hast, they would have converted. And, you rulers
and officers, be wise and circumspect, look to your charge, and see you
do your duties; and rather be glad to amend your ill living than to be
angry when you are warned or told of your fault. What ado was there made
in London at a certain man, because he said, (and indeed at that time on
a just cause,) "Burgesses!" quoth he, "nay, Butterflies." Lord, what ado
there was for that word! And yet would God they were no worse than
butterflies! Butterflies do but their nature: the butterfly is not
covetous, is not greedy, of other men's goods; is not full of envy and
hatred, is not malicious, is not cruel, is not merciless. The butterfly
glorieth not in her own deeds, nor preferreth the traditions of men
before God's word; it committeth not idolatry, nor worshippeth false
gods. But London cannot abide to be rebuked; such is the nature of man.
If they be pricked, they will kick; if they be rubbed on the gall, they
will wince; but yet they will not amend their faults, they will not be
ill spoken of. But how shall I speak well of them? If you could be
content to receive and follow the word of God, and favour good preachers,
if you could bear to be told of your faults, if you could amend when you
hear of them, if you would be glad to reform that is amiss; if I might
see any such inclination in you, that you would leave to be merciless,
and begin to be charitable, I would then hope well of you, I would then
speak well of you. But London was never so ill as it is now. In times
past men were full of pity and compassion, but now there is no pity; for
in London their brother shall die in the streets for cold, he shall lie
sick at the door between stock and stock, I cannot tell what to call it,
and perish there for hunger: was there ever more unmercifulness in Nebo?
I think not. In times past, when any rich man died in London, they were
wont to help the poor scholars of the Universities with exhibition. When
any man died, they would bequeath great sums of money toward the relief
of t