John Wade, University of Sheffield

If anyone is allowed ascend to heaven by killing, the biggest gate of heaven is open to the Papists.

[Note that this epigram also occurs on page 1937 of the 1576 edition in Book XII. The actual text of Cicero is found in the De Republica, Fragments, sect. 6. line 3: Si fas endo plagas caelestum ascendere cuiquam est, Mi soli caeli maxima porta patet. Also cf. Seneca the Younger, Epistlae Morales ad Luc. Letter 108. 34. 5.: Ennium hoc ait Homero [se] subripuisse, Ennio Vergilium; esse enim apud Ciceronem in his ipsis de re publica hoc epigramma Enni: si fas endo plagas caelestum ascendere cuiquam est, mi soli caeli maxima porta patet. Also cf. Lactantius, Divinarum Institutionum lib. I, De Falsa Religione Deorum, Migne P.L., col. 0211B: Apud Ennium sic loquitur Africanus; Si fas endo plagas coelestum ascendere cuiquam est, Mi soli coeli maxima porta patet.]

Giles Fletcher of Cambridge

John Wade, University of Sheffield

Now three times your ship has traversed the seas, having spent much effort in the interim period, and three times Foxe has seen the shores. And while you put to flight swords, dogs and bodies consumed in flames, your own body has been consumed and your pale limbs are weak, but your courage remains tireless, which is advantageous to us but harmful to you alone. No rather you are complaining that soft idleness is lessening your labours, you superhuman person. You cannot, and an enormous passion for God's will drives your mind, and restores new strength to your heart. And so come on, seeing that you are singing to us of the memorable deeds of good men, indulge quickly in your sacred task. Already while posterity, which the long custody of fame holds, thinks about the succession of its great ancestor, and while it reads the monuments of your labour, worshipful sir, the great minded leaders and the stars sought through the midst of the fires, the age to come will at the same time marvel at you and will in rivalry imitate the sacred praises of those of old. Let not other fires, not the very power of Kings, nor any power of steel, neither spears nor swords, subdue breasts burning in the flames of heaven. Like when winged Aurora coming from the mountains carries back the funeral tribute and her father's ashes, and while she prepares the pyre and flames for herself, goes away from the fire greater, and where she fluttered with new wings the native birds follow with happy cry: you blessed ones have fortunate souls above the high stars (and) whatever is oppressed touches mortal breasts, no longer our honour, nor rewards for our concern: nor anything for the hostile land to do for such great virtues. See, however, Posterity will pay such honours as it will be able, while reading of tremendous deeds, it marvels at the strength and with applause will follow victorious faith above the stars. (If in any way they owe this to mortals) they themselves admit that they owe the ashes of the saints to you, Foxe. There will be a time, when, after your death and good works, being about to augment the inhabitants of the upper world, you will happily see the high stars, whose names you are already assigning to fame, the outstanding heroes, and you will yourself be seen by them. And now the offspring, rising high, will follow their fathers as the world goes to ruin, religion, the glory of the human race, an excellent guardian of the Empire, which holy faith accompanies as it proceeds, will thrust itself out more clearly than heaven on high and golden peace will increase around the happy lands, then also the monuments of divine labour and the sacred work will flourish everywhere and bless with its fruit both the people and the people's grandchildren throughout long generations.

Thomas Ridley of Cambridge.

John Wade, University of Sheffield

The bodies which once lacked a just tomb and the pious bones which were scattered throughout the fields in all directions skilful Foxe has collected with great care and massed together in one work. But when the deceitful and troublesome clan, the Papists, vainly began to take revenge upon so holy a work, the pious man enlarged the same, made two volumes out of the one and built up his words against his enemies. Not satisfied with this, he refined it again, enlarged it and compressed it for the convenience of his people: not at all fearing the abuse of a stupid tongue, while he was making your brave deeds resound, you holy ones. O you lucky souls, who have born witness with your blood as heavenly assistance for us! And you, who have adorned your holy remains by such a death, completing a sad ministry: but outstanding for you, and not without use for us, just as by those examples we can be brave through faith.

[The identity of this M.M.S. remains unknown. He did however translate Brevissima relacion de la destruycion de las Indias by Bartolomé de las Casas (1474-1566) from Spanish, and this was published in London in 1583.]

John Wade, University of Sheffield

Read through the deeds and burning fates of English men which we have sealed and disclosed in a faithful register: the spectacles of twin gatherings, congregations fighting in their different wars, are there to be admired by you. On this side, are those over whom wild Satan hovers with savage onslaught, and carries forward the torches of Tartarus into his own realms. On that side, Christ the King of Heaven, stretches out a way to the stars across flames and a thousand bloody deaths. On this side, arms, prayers, tears, fastings in the churches and the honour and sacrifices ordered by the Father on high. The fury of the Cyclopes wearies this gathering, the Eumenides weary their wild hearts and thorny breasts with grim squalor. The Mass flies in front, drunk with flames rivers of blood, and evil Rome steps back. While Foxe records such struggles extended over a long period of time, and gathers together so many monuments in his book, meanwhile the virgin born in the time of truth stands high over trampled Phleethon. After other births, and then after other labours, comes this final anger of the avenging hand, and this third set of arms we hang up to father Quirinus, which before were small but now as great and of such a kind as you see. Just like the miracles of the fateful stone which long ago the royal exile displayed on the soil of Assyria, [so] this stone is small, but it lifts itself up to heaven, ordered to equal the Atlantic bays. Now also (it is one) which has filled the world with its curved fragments and makes haste to climb in might to the heights of heaven. The father himself, thundering with this, has extended his rule over the burning vault, and topples proud kingdoms to the ground. A cruel flint, because it speeds through the flaming foundations of cities and brings destruction with its exalted threats. Bold Semiramis of Rome, look to your brick walls. Already that Babylon of yours is crashing down. How great a ruin will be brought about now by the force of that rocky cliff? What terrible massacre will its fearfulness inflict upon the wretched sons of Rome? This is the last labour of the greedy mountain which carries off the popes who revere the ships and the puppets who revere the popes. But you happy spirits, whose hearts are concerned with the age of gold, are pouring out pious prayers with pure lips: and you, winged battle-lines, citizens of starry Olympus, applaud: the Babel of Rome is dead, dead the pope.