Ours are the Bishops Martin and Nicholas, exercised in watchings, clad in the military garb of hair cloths, fed with fasts.  Ours is Benedict, father of so many monks.  I should not run through their thousands in ten years.  But neither do I set down those whom I mentioned before among the Doctors of the Church.  I am mindful of the brevity imposed upon me.  Whoever wills, may seek these further details, not only from the copious histories of the ancients, but even much more from the grave authors who have bequeathed to memory almost one man one Saint.  Let the reader report to me his judgment concerning those ancient blessed Christians, to what doctrine they adhered, the Catholic or the Lutheran.  I call to witness the throne of God, and that Tribunal at which I shall stand to render reason for these Reasons, of everything I have said and done, that either there is no heaven at all, or heaven belongs to our people.  The former position we abhor, we fix therefore upon the latter.

Now contrariwise, if you please, let us look into hell.  There are burnt with everlasting fire, who?  The Jews.  On what Church have they turned their backs?  On ours.  Who again?  The heathen.  What Church have they most cruelly persecuted?  Ours.  Who again?  The Turks.  What temples have they destroyed?  Ours.  Who once more?  Heretics.  Against what Church are they in rebellion?  Against ours.  What Church but ours has opposed itself against all the gates of hell?  When, after the driving away of the Hebrews, Christian inhabitants began to multiply at Jerusalem, what a concourse of men there was to the Holy Places, what veneration attached to the City, to the Sepulchre, to the Manger, to the Cross, to all the memorials in which the Church delights as a wife in what has been worn by her husband.  Hence arose against us the hatred of the Jews, cruel and implacable.  Even now they complain that our ancestors were the ruin of their ancestors.  From Simon Magus and the Lutherans they have received no wound.  Among the heathen, they were the most violent who, throughout the Roman Empire, for three hundred years, at intervals of time, contrived most painful punishments for Christians.  What Christians?  The fathers and children of our faith.  Learn the language of the tyrant who roasted St. Lawrence on the gridiron: 

   That this is of your rites
   The custom and practice, it has been handed down to memory: 
   This the discipline of the institution,
   That priests pour libations from golden cups. 
   In silver goblets they say
   That the sacred blood smokes;
   And that in golden candlestick, at the nightly sacrifices,
   There stand fixed waxen candles. 
   Then is it the chief care of the brethren,
   As many-tongued report does testify,
   To offer from the sale of estates,
   Thousands of pence. 
   Ancestral property made over
   To dishonest auctions,
   The disinherited successor groans,