work was allowed to devolve on the Archbishop, who, with the assistance of Foxe the Martyrologist, produced the still-born volume,[1] in which, as I have already mentioned, he claimed the continued privilege of sending obstinate heretics to the stake; and which remains to show to posterity the inability of the wisest of the clergy to comprehend their altered position. The King was already more clear-sighted than the Archbishop of Canterbury. He admitted the desirableness of discipline; 'so,' however, 'that those that should be executors of that discipline were men of tried honesty, wisdom, and judgment.' 'But because,' he said, 'those bishops who should execute it, some for Papistry, some for ignorance, some for age, some for their ill names, some for all those causes, were men unable to execute discipline, it was, therefore, a thing unmeet for such men.'[2]
Meanwhile, amidst discussions on the remedies of evils, the evils themselves for the most part continued. Discipline could not be restored. The King's abilities did not anticipate his majority; the revenues were still misapplied, the debts of the Crown still unpaid. Officials indeed in the interests of Northumberland were permitted to indemnify themselves for their services. Bishop Ponet, for instance, composed a catechism, which was ordered for general use, and was allowed a 'monopoly of the printing.'[3] But ordinary persons, servants,
