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 I have no humour nor delight in telling Stories, and do not publish these for the gratification of those that have; but I record them as Arguments for the confirmation of a Truth which hath indeed been attested by multitudes of the like Evidences in all places and times. But things remote, or long past are either not believed or forgotten: whereas these being fresh and near, and attended with all the circumstances of credibility, it may be expected they should have the more success upon the obstinacy of Unbelievers. But after all this, I must confess, there is one Argument against me which is not to be dealt with, viz. a mighty confidence grounded upon nothing, that swaggers and huffs, and swears there are no Witches. For such Philosophers as these, let them enjoy the Opinion of their own Superlative Judgments, and enter me in the first rank of Fools for crediting my Senses, and those of all the World, before their sworn Dictates. If they will believe in Scott, Hobbes, and Osborne, and think them more infallible than the sacred Oracles, the History of all Ages, and the full experience of our own, who can help it? They must not be contradicted, and they are resolved not to be persuaded. For this sort of Men I never go about to convince them of any thing. If I can avoid it, I throw nothing before them, lest they should turn again and rend me. Their Opinions came into their Heads by chance, when their little Reasons had no notice of their entrance; and they must be let alone to go out again of themselves the same way they entred. Therefore not