You have from me, Gentlemen of the University, this little
present, put together by the labour of such leisure as I could
snatch on the road. My purpose was to clear myself in your
judgment of the charge of arrogance, and to show just cause for
my confidence, and meanwhile, until such time as along with me
you are invited by the adversaries to the disputations in the
Schools, to give you a sort of foretaste of what is to come
there. If you think it a just, safe, and virtuous choice for
Luther or Calvin to be taken for the Canon of Scripture, the Mind
of the Holy Ghost, the Standard of the Church, the Pedagogue of
Councils and Fathers, in short, the God of all witnesses and
ages, I have nothing to hope of your reading or hearing me. But
if you are such as I have pictured you in my mind, philosophers,
keen-sighted, lovers of the truth, of simplicity, of modesty,
enemies of temerity, of trifles and sophisms, you will easily see
daylight in the open air, seeing that you already see the peep of
day through a narrow chink. I will say freely what my love of
you, and your danger, and the importance of the matter requires.
The devil is not unaware that you will see this light of day, if
ever you raise your eyes to it. For what a piece of stupidity it
would be to prefer Hanmers and Charks to Christian antiquity! But
there are certain Lutheran enticements whereby the devil extends
his kingdom, delicate snares whereby that hooker of men has
caught with his baits already many of your rank and station. What
are they! Gold, glory, pleasures, lusts. Despise them. What are
they but bowels of earth, high-sounding air, a banquet of worms,
fair dunghills. Scorn them. Christ is rich, who will maintain
you: He is a King, who will provide you: He is a sumptuous
entertainer, who will feast you; He is beautiful, who will give
in abundance all that can make you happy. Enrol yourselves in His
service, that with Him you may gain triumphs, and show yourselves
men truly most learned, truly most illustrious. Farewell. At
Cosmopolis, City of all the world, 1581.