To that gentleman of great authority, Sir Herman Rinck, patrician and senator, and Knight of the Golden Spur, that most prudent counsellor of kings of the highest rank, Ortwin Gratius of Deventer, least among the exponents of the liberal arts, sends his warmest greetings.

A little while ago I respectfully sent you a printed letter, noble Sir Hermann, not in my own name, as you know, but in that of the printer himself. Now, though, so as to pay even fuller respect to your Worship in this matter, and at the same time purge myself of any taint of dissimulation, it is necessary for me to open my heart to you. Luther, as I see it, laments and bewails the fact that he offended his Royal Majesty. And quite properly. For kings and princes have long arms, nor is it safe to kick (as they say) against the pricks, or for a milksop to pick a fight with a mighty lion. If only the Trojans wised up in time not to look as though they were taking back their move or had snapped the thread thoughtlessly. The wise man has no use for the phrase ‘I didn't think’. To tell the truth, as Erasmus said to Luigi Marliano, ‘nobody harms Luther more than he does himself ‘. And Erasmus also reckons that we should steer clear of that Scylla of his in such a way as not to rush headlong into the Charybdis of the opposite side, and testifies that at first he urged him to give up writing factious and incendiary pamphlets. But as things are, Luther has beyond any doubt mired himself in a bottomless pit of vituperation, though that is neither here nor there to me. He’ll see if he can offend such a mighty prince without regretting it. He has certainly stepped way over the mark, nor has he learned to measure his pace. Hence, most worthy Knight of Christ, it seemed to you worthwhile, to advance the glory of the most serene and at once manifestly peerless King of the English. Not without reason. For, sprung as you are from the ancient and noble line of the Rincks, you do not cease to ornament your house with diverse titles of honour.