It was a
pleasant fiction, and from the beginning so profitable to the feigners of
it, that almost, I dare boldly say, there hath been no emperor that hath
gotten more by taxes and tallages of them that were alive, than these,
the very and right-begotten sons of the world, got by dead men's tributes
and gifts. If there be some in England, that would this sweeting of the
world to be with no less policy kept still than it was born and brought
forth in Rome, who then can accuse Christ of lying? No, no; as it hath
been ever true, so it shall be, that the children of the world be much
wiser, not only in making their things, but also in conserving them. I
wot not what it is, but somewhat it is I wot, that some men be so loth to
see the abuse of this monster, purgatory, which abuse is more than
abominable: as who should say, there is none abuse in it, or else as
though there can be none in it. They may seem heartily to love the old
thing, that thus earnestly endeavour them to restore him his old name.
They would not set an hair by the name, but for the thing. They be not
so ignorant (no, they be crafty), but that they know if the name come
again, the thing will come after. Thereby it ariseth, that some men make
their cracks, that they, maugre all men's heads, have found purgatory.
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