In our differences with Rome he is strangely
unfixed, and a new man every new day, as his last discourse-book's
meditations transport him. He could like the gray hairs of popery, did
not some dotages there stagger him: he would come to us sooner, but our
new name affrights him. He is taken with their miracles, but doubts an
imposture; he conceives of our doctrine better, but it seems too empty
and naked. He cannot drive into his fancy the circumscription of truth
to our corner, and is as hardly persuaded to think their old legends
true. He approves well of our faith, and more of their works, and is
sometimes much affected at the zeal of Amsterdam. His conscience
interposes itself betwixt duellers, and whilst it would part both, is by
both wounded. He will sometimes propend much to us upon the reading a
good writer, and at Bellarmine [58] recalls as far back again; and the
fathers justle him from one side to another. Now Socinus [59] and
Vorstius [60] afresh torture him, and he agrees with none worse than
himself. He puts his foot into heresies tenderly, as a cat in the water,
and pulls it out again, and still something unanswered delays him; yet
he bears away some parcel of each, and you may sooner pick all religions
out of him than one. He cannot think so many wise men should be in
error, nor so many honest men out of the way, and his wonder is double
when he sees these oppose one another. He hates authority as the tyrant
of reason, and you cannot anger him worse than with a father's _dixit,_
and yet that many are not persuaded with reason, shall authorise his
doubt.
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