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Dialogue of Comfort Against Tribulation

by Saint Thomas More · English · Gutenberg #17075 · 570,627 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Dialogue of Comfort Against Tribulation

Author: Saint Thomas More

Editor: Monica Stevens


        
Release date: November 16, 2005 [eBook #17075]
                Most recently updated: December 12, 2020

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/17075

Credits: Produced by David McClamrock


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DIALOGUE OF COMFORT AGAINST TRIBULATION ***




Produced by David McClamrock





DIALOGUE OF COMFORT AGAINST TRIBULATION

by St. Thomas More

with modifications to obsolete language by Monica Stevens

______________________________


PUBLISHED 1951
BY SHEED AND WARD, LTD.
110/111 FLEET STREET,
LONDON, E.C.4
AND
SHEED AND WARD, INC.
830 BROADWAY,
NEW YORK, 3

______________________________


NOTE

This edition of the Dialogue of Comfort has been transcribed from
the 1557 version as it appears in Everyman's Library. The Everyman
edition is heartily recommended to readers who would like to taste
the dialogue in its original form.

The first plan was to change only the spelling. It soon became
evident that the punctuation would have to be changed to follow
present usage. The longest sentences were then broken up into two
or three, and certain others were rearranged into a word order
more like that of today. Nothing was omitted, however, and nothing
was added except relative pronouns, parts of "to be," and other
such neutral connectives. Finally, obsolete words were changed to
more familiar equivalents except when they were entirely clear and
too good to lose. Thus "wot" became "know" but "gigglot" and "galp
up the ghost" were retained. Words that have come to have a quite
different meaning for us, such as "fond" and "lust" were replaced
by less ambiguous ones--wherever possible, by ones that More
himself used elsewhere.

The text has not been cut or expanded, re-interpreted or edited.
Any transcription seems to involve some interpretation, conscious
or otherwise, but an effort has been made to keep it to a minimum.
Passages that seemed to make no sense have therefore been left
unaltered. If other readers find solutions for them their
suggestions will be welcomed.

This is not in any sense a scholarly piece of work. That would
require a very different method, as well as a far more thorough
knowledge of sixteenth-century English. It would be a most
commendable undertaking, but it might result in an edition for the
learned. This one is for everyone who has the two essentials,
faith and intelligence, presupposed by Anthony in Chapter II.

MONICA STEVENS

Middlebury, Vermont.
Feast of St. Benedict, 1950.

______________________________


BOOK ONE

VINCENT:  Who would have thought, O my good uncle, a few years
past, that those in this country who would visit their friends
lying in disease and sickness would come, as I do now, to seek and
fetch comfort of them? Or who would have thought that in giving
comfort to them they would use the way that I may well use to you?
For albeit that the priests and friars be wont to call upon sick
men to remember death, yet we worldly friends, for fear of
discomforting them, have ever had a way here in Hungary of lifting
up their hearts and putting them in good hope of life.

But now, my good uncle, the world is here waxed such, and so great
perils appear here to fall at hand, that methinketh the greatest
comfort a man can have is when he can see that he shall soon be
gone. And we who are likely long to live here in wretchedness have
need of some comforting counsel against tribulation to be given us
by such as you, good uncle. For you have so long lived virtuously,
and are so learned in the law of God that very few are better in
this country. And you have had yourself good experience and assay
of such things as we do now fear, as one who hath been taken
prisoner in Turkey two times in your days, and is now likely to
depart hence ere long.

But that may be your great comfort, good uncle, since you depart to
God. But us of your kindred shall you leave here, a company of
sorry comfortless orphans. For to all of us your good help,
comfort, and counsel hath long been a great stay--not as an uncle
to some, and to others as one further of kin, but as though to us
all you had been a natural father.

ANTHONY:  Mine own good cousin, I cannot much deny but what there
is indeed, not only here in Hungary but also in almost all places
in Christendom, such a customary manner of unchristian comforting.
And in any sick man it doth more harm than good, by drawing him in
time of sickness, with looking and longing for life, from the
meditation of death, judgment, heaven, and hell, with which he
should beset much of his time--even all his whole life in his best
health. Yet is that manner of comfort to my mind more than mad when
it is used to a man of mine age. For as we well know that a young
man may die soon, so are we very sure that an old man cannot live
long. And yet there is (as Tully saith) no man so old but that, for
all that, he hopeth yet that he may live one year more, and of a
frail folly delighteth to think thereon and comfort himself
therewith. So other men's words of such comfort, adding more sticks
to that fire, shall (in a manner) quite burn up the pleasant
moisture that should most refresh him--the wholesome dew, I mean,
of God's grace, by which he should wish with God's will to be
hence, and long to be with him in Heaven.

Now, as for your taking my departing from you so heavily (as that
of one from whom you recognize, of your goodness, to have had here
before help and comfort), would God I had done to you and to others
half so much as I myself reckon it would have been my duty to do!
But whensoever God may take me hence, to reckon yourselves then
comfortless, as though your chief comfort stood in me--therein
would you make, methinketh, a reckoning very much as though you
would cast away a strong staff and lean upon a rotten reed. For God
is, and must be, your comfort, and not I. And he is a sure
comforter, who (as he said unto his disciples) never leaveth his
servants comfortless orphans, not even when he departed from his
disciples by death. But he both sent them a comforter, as he had
promised, the Holy Spirit of his Father and himself, and he also
made them sure that to the world's end he would ever dwell with
them himself. And therefore, if you be part of his flock and
believe his promise, how can you be comfortless in any tribulation,
when Christ and his Holy Spirit, and with them their inseparable
Father, if you put full trust and confidence in them, are never
either one finger-breadth of space nor one minute of time from you?

VINCENT:  O, my good uncle, even these selfsame words, with which
you prove that because of God's own gracious presence we cannot be
left comfortless, make me now feel and perceive how much comfort we
shall miss when you are gone. For albeit, good uncle, that while
you tell me this I cannot but grant it for true, yet if I had not
now heard it from you, I would not have remembered it, nor would it
have fallen to my mind. And moreover, as our tribulations shall
increase in weight and number, so shall we need not only one such
good word or twain, but a great heap of them, to stable and
strengthen the walls of our hearts against the great surges of this
tempestuous sea.

ANTHONY:  Good cousin, trust well in God and he shall provide you
outward teachers suitable for every time, or else shall himself
sufficiently teach you inwardly.

VINCENT:  Very well, good uncle, but yet if we would leave the
seeking of outward learning, when we can have it, and look to be
inwardly taught by God alone, then should be thereby tempt God and
displease him. And since I now see the likelihood that when you are
gone we shall be sore destitute of any other like you, therefore
methinketh that God bindeth me of duty to pray you now, good uncle,
in this short time that we have you, that I may learn of you such
plenty of good counsel and comfort, against these great storms of
tribulation with which both I and all mine are sore beaten already,
and now upon the coming of this cruel Turk fear to fall in far
more, that I may, with the same laid up in remembrance, govern and
stay the ship of our kindred and keep it afloat from peril of
spiritual drowning.

You are not ignorant, good uncle, what heaps of heaviness have of
late fallen among us already, with which some of our poor family are
fallen into such dumps that scantly can any such comfort as my poor
wit can give them at all assuage their sorrow. And now, since these
tidings have come hither, so hot with the great Turk's enterprise
into these parts here, we can scantly talk nor think of anything
else than his might and our danger. There falleth so continually
before the eyes of our heart a fearful imagination of this terrible
thing: his mighty strength and power, his high malice and hatred,
and his incomparable cruelty, with robbing, spoiling, burning, and
laying waste all the way that his army cometh; then, killing or
carrying away the people thence, far from home, and there severing
the couples and the kindred asunder, every one far from the other,
some kept in thraldom and some kept in prison and some for a
triumph tormented and killed in his presence; then, sending his
people hither and his false faith too, so that such as are here and
still remain shall either both lose all and be lost too, or be
forced to forsake the faith of our Saviour Christ and fall to the
false sect of Mahomet. And yet--that which we fear more than all
the rest--no small part of our own folk who dwell even here about
us are, we fear, falling to him or already confederated with him.
If this be so, it may haply keep this quarter from the Turk's
invasion. But then shall they that turn to his law leave all their
neighbours nothing, but shall have our goods given them and our
bodies too, unless we turn as they do and forsake our Saviour too.
And then--for there is no born Turk so cruel to Christian folk as
is the false Christian that falleth from the faith--we shall stand
in peril, if we persevere in the truth, to be more hardly handled
and die a more cruel death by our own countrymen at home than if we
were taken hence and carried into Turkey. These fearful heaps of
peril lie so heavy at our hearts, since we know not into which we
shall fortune to fall and therefore fear all the worst, that (as
our Saviour prophesied of the people of Jerusalem) many among us
wish already, before the peril come, that the mountains would
overwhelm them or the valleys open and swallow them up and cover
them.

Therefore, good uncle, against these horrible fears of these
terrible tribulations--some of which, as you know, our house hath
already, and the rest of which we stand in dread of--give us, while
God lendeth you to us, such plenty of your comforting counsel as I
may write and keep with us, to stay us when God shall call you
hence.

ANTHONY:  Ah, my good cousin, this is a heavy hearing. And just as
we who dwell here in this part now sorely fear that thing which a
few years ago we feared not at all, so I suspect that ere long they
shall fear it as much who now think themselves very sure because
they dwell further off.

Greece feared not the Turk when I was born, and within a while
afterward that whole empire was his. The great Sultan of Syria
thought himself more than his match, and long since you were born
hath he that empire too. Then hath he taken Belgrade, the fortress
of this realm. And since that hath he destroyed our noble young
goodly king, and now two of them strive for us--our Lord send the
grace that the third dog carry not away the bone from them both!
What of the noble strong city of Rhodes, the winning of which he
counted as a victory against the whole body of Christendom, since
all Christendom was not able to defend that strong town against
him? Howbeit, if the princes of Christendom everywhere would, where
there was need, have set to their hands in time, the Turk would
never have taken any one of all those places. But partly because of
dissensions fallen among ourselves, and partly because no man
careth what harm other folk feel, but each part suffereth the other
to shift for itself, the Turk has in a few years wonderfully
increased and Christendom on the other hand very sorely decayed.
And all this is worked by our wickedness, with which God is not
content.

But now, whereas you desire of me some plenty of comforting things,
which you may put in remembrance, to comfort your company
with--verily, in the rehearsing and heaping of your manifold fears,
I myself began to feel that there would be much need, against so
many troubles, of many comforting counsels. For surely, a little
before you came, as I devised with myself upon the Turk's coming,
it happened that my mind fell suddenly from that to devising upon
my own departing. Now, albeit that I fully put my trust in God and
hope to be a saved soul by his mercy, yet no man is here so sure
that without revelation he may stand clean out of dread. So I
bethought me also upon the pain of hell, and afterward, then, I
bethought me upon the Turk again. And at first methought his terror
nothing, when I compared with it the joyful hope of heaven. Then I
compared it on the other hand with the fearful dread of hell,
casting therein in my mind those terrible fiendish tormentors, with
the deep consideration of that furious endless fire. And methought
that if the Turk with his whole host, and all his trumpets and
timbrels too, were to come to my chamber door and kill me in my
bed, in respect of the other reckoning I would regard him not a
rush. And yet, when I now heard your lamentable words, laying forth
as though it were present before my face that heap of heavy
sorrowful tribulations that (besides those that are already
befallen) are in short space likely to follow, I waxed myself
suddenly somewhat dismayed. And therefore I well approve your
request in this behalf, since you wish to have a store of comfort
beforehand, ready by you to resort to, and to lay up in your heart
as a remedy against the poison of all desperate dread that might
arise from occasion of sore tribulation. And I shall be glad, as my
poor wit shall serve me, to call to mind with you such things as I
before have read, heard, or thought upon, that may conveniently
serve us to this purpose.


I

First shall you, good cousin, understand this: The natural wise men
of this world, the old moral philosophers, laboured much in this
matter. And many natural reasons have they written by which they
might encourage men to set little by such goods--or such hurts,
either--the going and coming of which are the matter and cause of
tribulation. Such are the goods of fortune, riches, favour,
friends, fame, worldly honour, and such other things: or of the
body, as beauty, strength, agility, liveliness, and health. These
things, as you know, coming to us, are matter of worldly wealth.
And, taken from us by fortune or by force or the fear of losing
them, they are matter of adversity and tribulation. For tribulation
seemeth generally to signify nothing else but some kind of grief,
either pain of the body or heaviness of the mind. Now that the body
should not feel what it feeleth, all the wit in the world cannot
bring that about. But that the mind should not be grieved either
with the pain that the body feeleth or with occasions of heaviness
offered and given unto the soul itself, this thing the philosophers
laboured very much about. And many goodly sayings have they toward
strength and comfort against tribulation, exciting men to the full
contempt of all worldly loss and the despising of sickness and all
bodily grief, painful death and all.

Howbeit, indeed, for anything that ever I read in them, I never
could yet find that those natural reasons were ever able to give
sufficient comfort of themselves. For they never stretch so far but
that they leave untouched, for lack of necessary knowledge, that
special point which not only is the chief comfort of all but
without which also all other comforts are nothing. And that point
is to refer the final end of their comfort unto God, and to repute
and take for the special cause of comfort that by the patient
sufferance of their tribulation they shall attain his favour and
for their pain receive reward at his hand in heaven. And for lack
of knowledge of this end, they did, as they needs must, leave
untouched also the very special means without which we can never
attain to this comfort, which is the gracious aid and help of God
to move, stir, and guide us forward in the referring of all our
ghostly comfort--yea, and our worldly comfort too--all unto that
heavenly end. And therefore, as I say, for the lack of these
things, all their comforting counsels are very far insufficient.

Howbeit, though they be far unable to cure our disease of
themselves and therefore are not sufficient to be taken for our
physicians, some good drugs have they yet in their shops. They may
therefore be suffered to dwell among our apothecaries, if their
medicines be made not of their own brains but after the bills made
by the great physician God, prescribing the medicines himself and
correcting the faults of their erroneous recipes. For unless we
take this way with them, they shall not fail to do as many bold
blind apothecaries do who, either for lucre or out of a foolish
pride, give sick folk medicines of their own devising. For
therewith do they kill up in corners many such simple folk as they
find so foolish as to put their lives in the hands of such ignorant
and unlearned Blind Bayards.

We shall therefore neither fully receive these philosophers'
reasons in this matter, nor yet utterly refuse them. But, using
them in such order as may beseem them, we shall fetch the principal
and effectual medicines against these diseases of tribulation from
that high, great, and excellent physician without whom we could
never be healed of our very deadly disease of damnation. For our
necessity in that regard, the Spirit of God spiritually speaketh of
himself to us, and biddeth us give him the honour of all our
health. And therein he thus saith unto us: "Honour thou the
physician, for him hath the high God ordained for thy necessity."
Therefore let us pray that high physician, our blessed Saviour
Christ, whose holy manhood God ordained for our necessity, to cure
our deadly wounds with the medicine made of the most wholesome
blood of his own blessed body. And let us pray that, as he cured
our mortal malady by this incomparable medicine, it may please him
to send us and put in our minds at this time such medicines as may
so comfort and strengthen us in his grace against the sickness and
sorrows of tribulation, that our deadly enemy the devil may never
have the power, by his poisoned dart of murmur, grudge, and
impatience, to turn our short sickness of worldly tribulation into
the endless everlasting death of infernal damnation.


II

Since all our principal comfort must come from God, we must first
presuppose, in him to whom we shall give any effectual comfort with
any ghostly counsel, one ground to begin with, on which all that we
shall build may be supported and stand; that is, the ground and
foundation of faith. Without this, had ready before, all the
spiritual comfort that anyone may speak of can never avail a fly.

For just as it would be utterly vain to lay natural reasons of
comfort to him who hath no wit, so would it undoubtedly be
frustrate to lay spiritual causes of comfort to him who hath no
faith. For unless a man first believe that holy scripture is the
word of God, and that the word of God is true, how can he take any
comfort in that which the scripture telleth him? A man must needs
take little fruit of scripture, if he either believe not that it be
the word of God, or else think that, though it were, it might yet
for all that be untrue! As this faith is more strong or more faint,
so shall the comforting words of holy scripture stand the man in
more stead or less.

This virtue of faith can no man give himself, nor yet any man to
another. But though men may with preaching be ministers unto God
therein; and though a man can, with his own free will, obeying
freely the inward inspiration of God, be a weak worker with
almighty God therein; yet is the faith indeed the gracious gift of
God himself. For, as St. James saith, "Every good gift and every
perfect gift is given from above, descending from the Father of
lights." Therefore, feeling our faith by many tokens very faint,
let us pray to him who giveth it to us, that it may please him to
help and increase it. And let us first say with him in the gospel,
"I believe, good Lord, but help thou the lack of my belief." And
afterwards, let us pray with the apostles, "Lord, increase our
faith." And finally, let us consider, by Christ's saying unto them,
that, if we would not suffer the strength and fervour of our faith
to wax lukewarm--or rather key-cold--and lose its vigour by
scattering our minds abroad about so many trifling things that we
very seldom think of the matters of our faith, we should withdraw
our thought from the respect and regard of all worldly fantasies,
and so gather our faith together into a little narrow room. And
like the little grain of mustard seed, which is by nature hot, we
should set it in the garden of our soul, all weeds being pulled out
for the better feeding of our faith. Then shall it grow, and so
spread up in height that the birds--that is, the holy angels of
heaven--shall breed in our soul, and bring forth virtues in the
branches of our faith. And then, with the faithful trust that
through the true belief of God's word we shall put in his promise,
we shall be well able to command a great mountain of tribulation to
void from the place where it stood in our heart, whereas with a
very feeble faith and faint, we shall be scantly able to remove a
little hillock.

And therefore, as for the first conclusion, since we must of
necessity before any spiritual comfort presuppose the foundation of
faith, and since no man can give us faith but only God, let us
never cease to call upon God for it.

VINCENT:  Forsooth, good uncle, methinks that this foundation of
faith which, as you say, must be laid first, is so necessarily
requisite, that without it all spiritual comfort would be given
utterly in vain. And therefore now shall we pray God for a full and
fast faith. And I pray you, good uncle, proceed you farther in the
process of your matter of spiritual comfort against tribulation.

ANTHONY:  That shall I, cousin, with good will.


III

I will in my poor mind assign, for the first comfort, the desire
and longing to be comforted by God. And not without some reason
call I this the first cause of comfort. For, as the cure of that
person is in a manner desperate, who hath no will to be cured, so
is the comfort of that person desperate, who desireth not his own
comfort.

And here shall I note you two kinds of folk who are in tribulation
and heaviness: one sort that will not seek for comfort, and another
sort that will.

And again, of those that will not, there are also two sorts. For
the first there are the sort who are so drowned in sorrow that they
fall into a careless deadly dullness, regarding nothing, thinking
almost of nothing, no more than if they lay in a lethargy. With
them it may so befall that wit and remembrance will wear away and
fall even fair from them. And this comfortless kind of heaviness in
tribulation is the highest kind of the deadly sin of sloth.

Another sort there are, who will seek for no comfort, nor yet
receive none, but in their tribulation (be it loss or sickness) are
so testy, so fuming, and so far out of all patience that it
profiteth no man to speak to them. And these are as furious with
impatience as though they were in half a frenzy. And, from a custom
of such behaviour, they may fall into one full and whole. And this
kind of heaviness in tribulation is even a dangerous high branch of
the mortal sin of ire.

Then is there, as I told you, another kind of folk, who fain would
be comforted. And yet are they of two sorts too. One sort are those
who in their sorrow seek for worldly comfort. And of them shall we
now speak the less, for the divers occasions that we shall
afterwards have to touch upon them in more places than one. But
here will I say this, which I learned of St. Bernard: He who in
tribulation turneth himself unto worldly vanities, to get help and
comfort from them, fareth like a man who in peril of drowning
catcheth whatsoever cometh next to hand, and that holdeth he fast,
be it never so simple a stick. But then that helpeth him not, for
he draweth that stick down under the water with him, and there they
lie both drowned together. So surely, if we accustom ourselves to
put our trust of comfort in the delight of these childish worldly
things, God shall for that foul fault suffer our tribulation to
grow so great that all the pleasures of this world shall never bear
us up, but all our childish pleasure shall drown with us in the
depth of tribulation.

The other sort is, I say, of those who long and desire to be
comforted by God. And as I told you before, they undoubtedly have a
great cause of comfort even in that point alone, that they consider
themselves to desire and long to be comforted by almighty God. This
mind of theirs may well be cause of great comfort to them, for two
great considerations.

One is that they see themselves seek for their comfort where they
cannot fail to find it. For God both can give them comfort, and
will. He can, for he is all-mighty; he will, for he is all-good,
and hath himself promised, "Ask and you shall have." He who hath
faith--as he must needs have who shall take comfort--cannot doubt
but what God will surely keep his promise. And therefore hath he a
great cause to be of good comfort, as I say, in that he considereth
that he longeth to be comforted by him who, his faith maketh him
sure, will not fail to comfort him.

But here consider this: I speak here of him who in tribulation
longeth to be comforted by God, and who referreth the manner of his
comforting to God. Such a man holdeth himself content, whether God
comfort him by taking away or diminishing the tribulation itself,
or by giving him patience and spiritual consolation therein. For if
he long only to have God take his trouble from him, we cannot so
well warrant that mind for a cause of so great comfort. For a man
may desire that who never mindeth to be the better, and also may he
miss the effect of his desire, because his request is haply not
good for him. And of this kind of longing and requiring, we shall
have occasion hereafter to speak further. But he who, referring the
manner of his comforting to God, desireth of God to be comforted,
asketh a thing so lawful and so pleasing to God that he cannot fail
to fare well. And therefore hath he, as I say, great cause to take
comfort in the very desire itself.

Another cause hath he to take of that desire a very great occasion
of comfort. For since his desire is good, and declareth to him that
he hath a good faith in God, it is a good token unto him that he is
not an abject, cast out of God's gracious favour, since he
perceiveth that God hath put such a virtuous, well-ordered appetite
in his mind. For as every evil mind cometh of the world and
ourselves and the devil, so is every such good mind inspired into
man's heart, either immediately or by the mean of our good angel or
other gracious occasion, by the goodness of God himself. And what a
comfort then may this be to us, when we by that desire perceive a
sure undoubted token that towards our final salvation our Saviour
is himself so graciously busy about us!


IV

VINCENT:  Forsooth, good uncle, this good mind of longing for God's
comfort is a good cause of great comfort indeed--our Lord in
tribulation send it to us! But by this I see well, that woe may
they be who in tribulation lack that mind and who desire not to be
comforted by God, but either are of sloth or impatience
discomfortless, or else of folly seek for their chief ease and
comfort anywhere else.

ANTHONY:  That is, good cousin, very true, as long as they stand in
that state. But then you must consider that tribulation is a means
to drive them from that state, and that is one of the causes for
which God sendeth it unto man. For albeit that pain was ordained by
God for the punishment of sins (so that they who never do now but
sin cannot but be ever punished in hell) yet in this world, in
which his high mercy giveth men space to be better, the punishment
that he sendeth by tribulation serveth ordinarily for a means of
amendment.

St. Paul himself was sorely against Christ, till Christ gave him a
great fall and threw him to the ground, and struck him stark blind.
And with that tribulation he turned to him at the first word, and
God was his physician and healed him soon after both in body and in
soul by his minister Ananias and made him his blessed apostle. Some
are in the beginning of tribulation very stubborn and stiff against
God, and yet at length tribulation bringeth them home. The proud
king Pharaoh did abide and endure two or three of the first
plagues, and would not once stoop at them. But then God laid on a
sorer lash that made him cry to him for help. And then sent he for
Moses and Aaron and confessed himself for a sinner and God for good
and righteous. And he prayed them to pray for him and to withdraw
that plague, and he would let them go. But when his tribulation was
withdrawn, then was he wicked again. So was his tribulation
occasion of his profit, and his help in turn was cause of his harm.
For his tribulation made him call to God, and his help made hard
his heart again. Many a man who in an easy tribulation falleth to
seek his ease in the pastime of worldly fantasies, in a greater
pain findeth all those comforts so feeble that he is fain to fall
to the seeking of God's help.

And therefore is, I say, the very tribulation itself many times a
means to bring the man to the taking of the aforementioned comfort
therein--that is, to the desire of comfort given by God. For this
desire of God's comfort is, as I have proved you, great cause of
comfort itself.


V

Howbeit, though the tribulation itself be a means oftentimes to get
a man this first comfort in it, yet sometimes itself alone bringeth
not a man to it. And therefore, since unless this comfort be had
first, there can in tribulation no other good comfort come forth,
we must consider the means by which this first comfort may come.

Meseemeth that if the man of sloth or impatience or hope of worldly
comfort have no mind to desire and seek for comfort of God, those
who are his friends, who come to visit and comfort him, must before
everything put that point in his mind, and not spend the time (as
they commonly do) in trifling and in turning him to the fantasies
of the world. They must also move him to pray God to put this
desire in  his mind. For when he once getteth it, he then hath the
first comfort--and, without doubt, if it be well considered, a
comfort marvellously great. His friends who thus counsel him must
also, to the attaining thereof, help to pray for him themselves,
and cause him to desire good folk to help him to pray for it. And
then, if these ways be taken to get it, I doubt not but the
goodness of God shall give it.


VI

VINCENT:  Verily methinketh, good uncle, that this counsel is very
good. For unless a person have first a desire to be comforted by
God, I cannot see what it can avail to give him any further counsel
of any spiritual comfort.

Howbeit, what if the man have this desire of God's comfort: that
is, that it may please God to comfort him in his tribulation by
taking that tribulation from him--is not this a good desire of
God's comfort, and a desire sufficient for him who is in
tribulation?

ANTHONY:  No, cousin, that it is not. I touched before upon this
point and passed it over, because I thought it would fall in our
way again, and so know I well that it will, oftener than once. And
now am I glad that you yourself move it to me here.

A man may many times, well and without sin, desire of God that the
tribulation be taken from him. But neither may we desire that in
every case, nor yet very well in any case (except very few) save
under a certain condition, either expressed or implied. For
tribulations are, as you know well, of many sundry kinds. Some are
by loss of goods or possessions, some by the sickness of ourselves,
and some by the loss of friends or by some other pain put unto our
bodies. Some are by the dread of losing these things that we fain
would save, under which fear fall all the same things that we have
spoken of before. For we may fear loss of goods or possessions, or
the loss of our friends, or their grief and trouble or our own by
sickness, imprisonment, or other bodily pain. We may be troubled
most of all with the fear of that thing which he feareth least of
all who hath most need to do so--that is, the fear of losing
through deadly sin the life of his blessed soul. And this last kind
of tribulation, as the sorest tribulation of all, though we may
touch some pieces of it here and there before, yet the chief part
and the principal pain will I reserve to treat apart effectually at
the end.

But now, as I said, since the kinds of tribulation are so diverse,
a man may pray God to take some of these tribulations from him, and
may take some comfort in the trust that God will do so. And
therefore against hunger, sickness, and bodily hurt, and against
the loss of either body or soul, men may lawfully many times pray
to the goodness of God, either for themselves or for their friends.
And toward this purpose are expressly prayed many devout orisons in
the common services of our mother Holy Church. And toward our help
in some of these things serve some of the petitions in the Pater
Noster, in which we pray daily for our daily food, and to be
preserved from the fall into temptation, and to be delivered from
evil.

But yet may we not always pray for the taking away from us of every
kind of temptation. For if a man should in every sickness pray for
his health again, when should he show himself content to die and to
depart unto God? And that mind must a man have, you know, or else
it will not be well with him. It is a tribulation to good men to
feel in themselves the conflict of the flesh against the soul and
the rebellion of sensuality against the rule and governance of
reason--the relics that remain in mankind of old original sin, of
which St. Paul so sore complaineth in his epistle to the Romans.
And yet may we not pray, while we stand in this life, to have this
kind of tribulation utterly taken from us. For it is left us by
God's ordinance to strive against it and fight with it, and by
reason and grace to master it and use it for the matter of our
merit.

For the salvation of our soul may we boldly pray. For grace may we
boldly pray, for faith, for hope, and for charity, and for every
such virtue as shall serve us toward heaven. But as for all the
other things before mentioned (in which is contained the matter of
every kind of tribulation), we may never well make prayers so
precisely but that we must express or imply a condition
therein--that is, that if God see the contrary better for us, we
refer it wholly to his will. And if that be so, we pray that God,
instead of taking away our grief, may send us of his goodness
either spiritual comfort to take it gladly or at least strength to
bear it patiently.

For if we determine with ourselves that we will take no comfort in
anything but the taking of our tribulation from us, then either we
prescribe to God that he shall do us no better turn, even though he
would, than we will ourselves appoint him; or else we declare that
we ourselves can tell better than he what is better for us. And
therefore, I say, let us in tribulation desire his help and
comfort, and let us remit the manner of that comfort unto his own
high pleasure. When we do this, let us nothing doubt but that, as
his high wisdom better seeth what is best for us than we can see it
ourselves, so shall his sovereign high goodness give us that thing
that shall indeed be best.

For otherwise, if we presume to stand to our own choice--unless God
offer us the choice himself, as he did to David in the choice of
his own punishment, after his high pride conceived in the numbering
of the people--we may foolishly choose the worst. And by
prescribing unto God ourselves so precisely what we will that he
shall do for us, unless of his gracious favour he reject our folly,
he shall for indignation grant us our own request, and afterward
shall we well find that it shall turn us to harm.

How many men attain health of body for whom it would be better, for
their soul's health, that their bodies were sick still? How many
get out of prison who happen outside on such harm as the prison
would have kept them from? How many who have been loth to lose
their worldly goods have, in keeping of their goods, soon afterward
lost their life? So blind is our mortality and so unaware what will
befall--so unsure also what manner of mind we ourselves will have
tomorrow--that God could not lightly do a man more vengeance than
to grant him in this world his own foolish wishes.

What wit have we poor fools to know what will serve us? For the
blessed apostle himself in his sore tribulation, praying thrice
unto God to take it away from him, was answered again by God (in a
manner) that he was but a fool in asking that request, but that the
help of God's grace in that tribulation to strengthen him was far
better for him than to take that tribulation from him. And
therefore, perceiving well by experience the truth of the lesson,
he giveth us good warning not to be too bold of our minds, when we
require aught of God, at his own pleasure. For his own Holy Spirit
so sore desireth our welfare that, as men say, he groaneth for us,
in such wise as no tongue can tell. "What we may pray for, that
would be behovable for us, we cannot ourselves tell," saith St.
Paul, "but the Spirit himself desireth for us with unspeakable
groanings."

And therefore I say, for conclusion of this point, let us never ask
of God precisely our own ease by delivery from our tribulation, but
pray for his aid and comfort by such ways as he himself shall best
like, and then may we take comfort even of our such request. For we
may be sure that this mind cometh of God. And also we may be very
sure that as he beginneth to work with us, so--unless we ourselves
fly from him--he will not fail to tarry with us. And then, if he
dwell with us, what trouble can do us harm? "If God be with us,"
saith St. Paul, "who can stand against us?"


VII

VINCENT:  You have, good uncle, well opened and declared the
question that I demanded you--that is, what manner of comfort a man
might pray for in tribulation. And now proceed forth, good uncle,
and show us yet farther some other spiritual comfort in tribulation.

ANTHONY:  This may be, methinketh, good cousin, great comfort in
tribulation: that every tribulation which any time falleth unto us
is either sent to be medicinable, if men will so take it; or may
become medicinable, if men will so make it; or is better than
medicinable, unless we will forsake it.

VINCENT:  Surely this is very comforting--if we can well perceive
it!

ANTHONY:  There three things that I tell you, we shall consider
thus: Every tribulation that we fall in, either cometh by our own
known deserving deed bringing us to it, as the sickness that
followeth our intemperate surfeit or the imprisonment or other
punishment put upon a man for his heinous crime; or else it is sent
us by God without any certain deserving cause open and known to
ourselves, either for punishment of some sins past (we know not
certainly which) or for preserving us from sin in which we would
otherwise be like to fall; or finally it is not due to the man's
sin at all but is for the proof of his patience and increase of his
merit. In all the former cases tribulation is, if we will,
medicinable. In this last case of all, it is better than
medicinable.


VIII

VINCENT:  This seemeth to me very good, good uncle, save that it
seemeth somewhat brief and short, and thereby methinketh somewhat
obscure and dark.

ANTHONY:  We shall therefore, to give it light withal, touch upon
every member of it somewhat more at large.

One member is, as you know, of them that fall in tribulation
through their own certain well-deserving deed, open and known to
themselves, as when we fall in a sickness following upon our own
gluttonous feasting, or when a man is punished for his own open
fault. These tribulations, and others like them, may seem not to be
comfortable, in that a man may be sorry to think himself the cause
of his own harm. Yet hath he good cause of comfort in them, if he
consider that he may make them medicinable for himself if he will.
For whereas there was due to that sin, unless it were purged here,
a far greater punishment after this world in another place, this
worldly tribulation of pain and punishment, by God's good provision
for him put upon him here in this world before, shall by the mean
of Christ's passion, if the man will in true faith and good hope by
meek and patience sufferance of his tribulation so make it, serve
him for a sure medicine to cure him. And it shall clearly discharge
him of all the sickness and disease of those pains that he should
otherwise suffer afterward. For such is the great goodness of
almighty God that he punisheth not the same thing twice.

And albeit that this punishment is put unto the man, not of his own
election and free choice but by force, so that he would fain avoid
it and falleth in it against his will, and therefore it seemeth
worthy of no thanks; yet the great goodness of almighty God so far
surpasseth the poor imperfect goodness of man, that though men make
their reckoning here one with another such, God yet of his high
bounty in man's account alloweth it toward him far otherwise. For
though a man fall in his pain by his own fault, and also at first
against his will, yet as soon as he confesseth his fault and
applieth his will to be content to suffer that pain and punishment
for the same, and waxeth sorry not only that he shall sustain such
punishment but also that he hath offended God and thereby deserved
much more, our Lord from that time counteth it not for pain taken
against his will. But it shall be a marvellous good medicine, and
work as a willingly taken pain the purgation and cleansing of his
soul with gracious remission of his sin, and of the far greater
pain that otherwise would have been prepared for it, peradventure
forever in hell. For many there are undoubtedly who would otherwise
drive forth and die in their deadly sin, who yet in such
tribulation, feeling their own frailty so effectually and the false
flattering world failing them, turn full goodly to God and call for
mercy. And so by grace they make virtue of necessity, and make a
medicine of their malady, taking their trouble meekly, and make a
right godly end.

Consider well the story of Acham, who committed sacrilege at the
great city of Jericho. Thereupon God took a great vengeance upon
the children of Israel, and afterward told them the cause and bade
them go seek the fault and try it out by lots. When the lot fell
upon the very man who did it--being tried by the lot falling first
upon his tribe and then upon his family and then upon his house and
finally upon his person--he could well see that he was deprehended
and taken against his will. But yet at the good exhortation of
Josue saying unto him, "Mine own son, give glory to the God of
Israel, and confess and show me what thou hast done, and hide it
not," he confessed humbly the theft and meekly took his death for
it. And he had, I doubt not, both strength and comfort in his pain,
and died a very good man. Yet, if he had never come in tribulation,
he would have been in peril never haply to have had just remorse in
all his whole life, but might have died wretchedly and gone to the
devil eternally. And thus made this thief a good medicine of his
well-deserved pain and tribulation.

Consider well the converted thief who hung on Christ's right hand.
Did not he, by his meek sufference and humble knowledge of his
fault, asking forgiveness of God and yet content to suffer for his
sin, make of his just punishment and well-deserved tribulation a
very good special medicine to cure him of all pain in the other
world, and win him eternal salvation?

And thus I say that this kind of tribulation, though it seem the
most base and the least comfortable, is yet, if the man will so
make it, a very marvellous wholesome medicine. And it may therefore
be, to the man who will so consider it, a great cause of comfort
and spiritual consolation.


IX

VINCENT:  Verily, mine uncle, this first kind of tribulation have
you to my mind opened sufficiently. And therefore, I pray you,
resort now to the second.

ANTHONY:  The second kind, you know, was of such tribulation as is
so sent us by God that we know no certain cause deserving that
present trouble, as we certainly know that upon such-and-such a
surfeit we fell in such-and-such a sickness, or as the thief
knoweth that for a certain theft he is fallen into a certain
punishment. But yet, since we seldom lack faults against God worthy
and well-deserving of great punishment, indeed we may well
think--and wisdom it is to do so--that with sin we have deserved it
and that God for some sin sendeth it, though we know not certainly
for which. And therefore thus far is this kind of tribulation
somewhat in effect to be taken alike unto the other. For you see,
if we thus will take it, reckoning it to be sent for sin and
suffering it meekly therefor, it is medicinable against the pain of
the other world to come for our past sins in this world, And this
is, as I have showed you, a cause of right great comfort.

But yet may then this kind of tribulation be, to some men of more
sober living and thereby of more clear conscience, somewhat a
little more comfortable. They may none otherwise reckon themselves
than sinners, for, as St. Paul saith, "My conscience grudgeth me
not of anything, but yet am I not thereby justified," and, as St.
John saith, "If we say that we have no sin in us, we beguile
ourselves and truth is there not in us." Yet, forasmuch as
the cause is to them not so certain as it is to the others
afore-mentioned in the first kind, and forasmuch as it is also
certain that God sometimes sendeth tribulation to keep and preserve
a man from such sin as he would otherwise fall in (and sometimes
also for exercise of their patience and increase of merit), great
cause of increase in comfort have those folk of the clearer
conscience in the fervour of their tribulation. For they may take
the comfort of a double medicine, and also of that thing that is of
the kind that we shall finally speak of, that I call "better than
medicinable."

But as I have before spoken of this kind of tribulation--how it is
medicinable in that it cureth the sin past and purchaseth remission
of the pain due for it--so let us somewhat consider how this
tribulation sent us by God is medicinable in that it preserveth us
from the sins into which we would otherwise be like to fall. If
that thing be a good medicine that restoreth us our health when we
lose it, as good a medicine must this one be that preserveth our
health while we have it, and suffereth us not to fall into that
painful sickness that must afterward drive us to a painful remedy!
Now God seeth sometimes that worldly wealth is coming so fast upon
someone (who nevertheless is good) that, foreseeing how much weight
of worldly wealth the man may bear and how much will overcharge him
and enhance his heart up so high that grace should fall from him,
God of his goodness, I say, doth anticipate his fall, and sendeth
him tribulation betimes while he is yet good. And this he doth to
make him know his maker and, by less liking the false flattering
world, to set a cross upon the ship of his heart and bear a low
sail thereon, so that the boisterous blast of pride blow him not
under the water.

Some lovely young lady, lo, who is yet good enough--God seeth a
storm come toward her that would, if her health and fat feeding
should last a little longer, strike her into some lecherous love
and, instead of her old-acquainted knight, lay her abed with a
new-acquainted knave. But God, loving her more tenderly than to
suffer her to fall into such shameful beastly sin, sendeth her in
season a goodly fair fervent fever, that maketh her bones to rattle
and wasteth away her wanton flesh. And it beautifieth her fair skin
with the colour of a kite's claw, and maketh her look so lovely
that her love would have little pleasure to look upon her. And it
maketh her also so lusty that if her lover lay in her lap she
should so sore long to throw up unto him the very bottom of her
stomach that she should not be able to restrain it from him, but
suddenly lay it all in his neck!

Did not, as I before told you, the blessed apostle himself confess
that the high revelations that God had given him might have
enhanced him into so high a pride that he might have caught a foul
fall, had not the provident goodness of God provided for his
remedy? And what was his remedy but a painful tribulation, so sore
that he was fain thrice to call to God to take the tribulation from
him. And yet would not God grant his request, but let him lie
therein till he himself, who saw more in St. Paul than St. Paul saw
in himself, knew well the time was come in which he might well
without his harm take it from  him.

And thus you see, good cousin, that tribulation is double
medicine--both a cure of the sin past, and a preservative from the
sin that is to come. And therefore in this kind of tribulation is
there good occasion for a double comfort; but that is, I say,
diversely to sundry diverse folk, as their own conscience is
cumbered with sin or clear. Howbeit, I will advise no man to be so
bold as to think that his tribulation is sent him to keep him from
the pride of his holiness! Let men leave that kind of comfort
hardly to St. Paul, till their living be like his. But of the rest
men may well take great comfort and good besides.


X

VINCENT:  The third kind of tribulation, uncle, remaineth now--that
is, that which is sent a man by God, and not for his sin either
committed or which otherwise would come, and therefore is not
medicinable, but is sent for exercise of our patience and increase
of our merit, and therefore better than medicinable. Though it be,
as you say (and as indeed it is) better for the man than any of the
other two kinds in another world, where the reward shall be
received, yet I cannot see by what reason a man can in this world,
where the tribulation is suffered, take any more comfort in it than
in any of the other twain that are sent him for his sin. For he
cannot here know whether it be sent him for sin before committed,
or for sin that otherwise should befall, or for increase of merit
and reward after to come. For every man hath cause enough to fear
and think that his sin already past hath deserved it, and that it
is not without peril for a man to think otherwise.

ANTHONY:  This that you say, cousin, hath place of truth in far the
most part of men. And therefore must they not envy nor disdain,
since they may take in their tribulation sufficient consolation for
their part, that some other who is more worthy may take yet a great
deal more. For, as I told you, cousin, though the best must confess
himself a sinner, yet there are many men--though to the multitude,
few--who for the kind of their living and the clearness of their
conscience may well and without sin have a good hope that God
sendeth them some great grief for the exercise of their patience
and for increase of their merit. This appeareth not only by St.
Paul, in the place before remembered, but also by the holy man Job,
who in sundry places of his disputations with his burdensome
comforters forbore not to say that the clearness of his own
conscience declared and showed to himself that he deserved not that
sore tribulation that he then had. Howbeit, as I told you before, I
will not advise every man at adventure to be bold upon this manner
of comfort. But yet know I some men such that I would dare, for
their more ease and comfort in their great and grievous pains, to
put them in right good hope that God sendeth it unto them not so
much for their punishment as for exercise of their patience.

And some tribulations are there, also, that grow upon such causes
that in those cases I would never forbear but always would, without
any doubt, give that counsel and comfort to any man.

VINCENT:  What causes, good uncle, are those?

ANTHONY:  Marry, cousin, wheresoever a man falleth in tribulation
for the maintenance of justice or for the defence of God's cause.
For if I should happen to find a man who had long lived a very
virtuous life, and had at last happened to fall into the Turks'
hands; and if he there did abide by the truth of his faith and,
with the suffering of all kinds of torments taken upon his body,
still did teach and testify the truth; and if I should in his
passion give him spiritual comfort--might I be bold to tell him no
further but that he should take patience in his pain, and that God
sendeth it to him for his sin, and that he is well worthy to have
it, though it were yet much more? He might then well answer me, and
other such comforters, as Job answered his: "Burdensome and heavy
comforters be you." Nay, I would not fail to bid him boldly, while
I should see him in his passion, to cast sin and hell and purgatory
and all upon the devil's pate, and doubt not but--as, if he gave
over his hold, all his merit would be lost and he would be turned
to misery--so if he stand and persevere still in the confession of
his faith, all his whole pain shall turn all into glory.

Yea, more shall I yet say than this. If there were a Christian man
who had among those infidels committed a very deadly crime, such as
would be worthy of death, not only by their laws but by Christ's
too (as manslaughter, or adultery, or other such thing); and if
when he were taken he were offered pardon of his life upon
condition that he should forsake the faith of Christ; and if this
man would now rather suffer death than so do--should I comfort him
in his pain only as I would a malefactor? Nay, this man, though he
would have died for his sin, dieth now for Christ's sake, since he
might live still if he would forsake him. The bare patient taking
of his death would have served for the satisfaction of his
sin--through the merit of Christ's passion, I mean, without help of
which no pain of our own could be satisfactory. But now shall
Christ, for his forsaking of his own life in the honour of his
faith, forgive the pain of all his sins, of his mere liberality,
and accept all the pain of his death for merit of reward in heaven,
and shall assign no part of it to the payment of his debt in
purgatory, but shall take it all as an offering and requite it all
with glory. And this man among Christian men, although he had been
before a devil, nothing would I doubt afterward to take him for a
martyr.

VINCENT:  Verily, good uncle, methinketh this is said marvellous
well. And it specially delighteth and comforteth me to hear it,
because of our principal fear that I first spoke of, the Turk's
cruel incursion into this country of ours.

ANTHONY:  Cousin, as for the matter of that fear, I purpose to
touch it last of all. Nor meant I here to speak of it, had it not
been that the vehemency of your objection brought it in my way. But
otherwise I would rather have put instead some example of those who
suffer tribulation for maintenance of right and justice, and choose
rather to take harm than to do wrong in any manner of matter. For
surely if a man may--as indeed he may--have great comfort in the
clearness of his conscience, who hath a false crime put upon him
and by false witness proved upon him, and who is falsely punished
and put to worldly shame and pain for it; a hundred times more
comfort may he have in his heart who, where white is called black
and right is called wrong, abideth by the truth and is persecuted
for justice.

VINCENT:  Then if a man sue me wrongfully for my own land, in which
I myself have good right, it is a comfort yet to defend it well,
since God shall give me thanks for it?

ANTHONY:  Nay nay, cousin, nay, there walk you somewhat wide. For
there you defend your own right for your temporal avail. But St.
Paul counseleth, "Defend not yourselves, my more dear friends," and
our Saviour counseleth, "If a man will strive with thee at the law
and take away thy coat, leave him thy gown too." The defence
therefore of our own right asketh no reward. Say you speed well, if
you get leave; look hardly for no thanks!

But on the other hand, if you do as St. Paul biddeth, "Seek not for
your own profit but for other folk's" and defend therefore of pity
a poor widow or a poor fatherless child, and rather suffer sorrow
by some strong extortioner than suffer them to take wrong; or if
you be a judge and have such zeal to justice that you will abide
tribulation by the malice of some mighty man rather than judge
wrong for his favour--such tribulations, lo, are those that are
better than only medicinable. And every man upon whom they fall may
be bold so to reckon them, and in his deep trouble may well say to
himself the words that Christ hath taught him for his comfort,
"Blessed be the merciful men, for they shall have mercy given them.
Blessed be they that suffer persecution for justice, for theirs is
the kingdom of heaven."

Here is a high comfort, lo, for those that are in this case. And
their own conscience can show it to them, and can fill their hearts
so full with spiritual joy that the pleasure may far surmount the
heaviness and grief of all their temporal trouble. But God's nearer
cause of faith against the Turks hath yet a far surpassing comfort
that by many degrees far excelleth this. And that, as I have said,
I purpose to treat last. And for this time this sufficeth
concerning the special comfort that men may take in this third kind
of tribulation.


XI

VINCENT:  Of truth, good uncle, albeit that every one of these
kinds of tribulations have cause of comfort in them, as you have
well declared, if men will so consider them, yet hath this third
kind above all a special prerogative therein.

ANTHONY:  That is undoubtedly true. But yet even the most base kind
of them all, good cousin, hath more causes of comfort than I have
spoken of yet.

For I have, you know, in that kind that is sent us for our sin,
spoken of no other comfort yet but twain: one that it refraineth us
from sin that otherwise we would fall in; and one that it serveth
us, through the merit of Christ's passion, as a means by which God
keepeth us from hell and serveth for the satisfaction of such pain
as we should otherwise endure in purgatory. Howbeit, there is
therein another great cause of joy besides this. For surely those
pains here sent us for our sin, in whatsoever wise they happen to
us (be our sin never so sore nor never so open and evident unto
ourselves and all the world too), yet if we pray for grace to take
them meekly and patiently; and if, confessing to God that it is far
too little for our fault, we beseech him nevertheless, since we
shall come hence so void of all good works for which we should have
any reward in heaven, to be not only so merciful to us as to take
our present tribulation in relief of our pains in purgatory, but
also so gracious unto us as to take our patience therein for a
matter of merit and reward in heaven; I verily trust--and nothing
doubt it--that God shall of his high bounty grant us our boon.

For as in hell pain serveth only for punishment without any manner
of purging, because all possibility of purging is past; and as in
purgatory punishment serveth only for purging, because the place of
deserving is past; so while we are yet in this world in which is
our place and our time of merit and well-deserving, the tribulation
that is sent us for our sin here shall, if we faithfully so desire,
beside the cleansing and purging of our pain, serve us also for
increase of reward. And so shall, I suppose and trust in God's
goodness, all such penance and good works as a man willingly
performeth, enjoined by his ghostly father in confession, or which
he willingly further doth of his own devotion beside. For though
man's penance, with all the good works that he can do, be not able
to satisfy of themselves for the least sin that we do, yet the
liberal goodness of God, through the merit of Christ's bitter
passion--without which all our works could never satisfy so much as
a spoonful to a great vesselful in comparison with the merit and
satisfaction that Christ has merited and satisfied for us
himself--this liberal goodness of God, I say, shall yet at our
faithful instance and request cause our penance and tribulation
patiently taken in this world to serve us in the other world both
for release and reward, tempered after such rate as his high
goodness and wisdom shall see best for us, whereof our blind
mortality cannot here imagine nor devise the stint.

And thus hath yet even the first and most base kind of tribulation,
though not fully so great as the second and very far less than the
third, far greater cause of comfort yet than I spoke of before.


XII

VINCENT:  Verily, good uncle, this pleaseth me very well. But yet
are there, you know, some of these things now brought in question.
For as for any pain due for our sin, to be diminished in purgatory
by the patient sufferance of tribulation here, there are, you know,
many who utterly deny that, and affirm for a sure truth that there
is no purgatory at all. And then, if they say true, is the cause of
the comfort gone, if the comfort that we should take be but in vain
and needless.

They say, you know, also that men merit nothing at all, but God
giveth all for faith alone, and that it would be sin and sacrilege
to look for reward in heaven either for our patience and glad
suffering for God's sake, or for any other good deed. And then is
there gone, if this be thus, the other cause of our further comfort
too.

ANTHONY:  Cousin, if some things were as they be not, then should
some things be as they shall not! I cannot indeed deny that some
men have of late brought up some such opinions, and many more than
these besides, and have spread them abroad. And it is a right heavy
thing to see such variousness in our belief rise and grow among
ourselves, to the great encouragement of the common enemies of us
all, whereby they have our faith in derision and catch hope to
overwhelm us all. Yet do three things not a little comfort my mind.
The first is that, in some communications had of late together,
there hath appeared good likelihood of some good agreement to grow
together in one accord of our faith. The second is that in the
meanwhile, till this may come to pass, contentions, disputations,
and uncharitable behaviour are prohibited and forbidden in effect
upon all parties--all such parties, I mean, as fell before to fight
for it. The third is that in Germany, for all their diverse
opinions, yet as they agree together in profession of Christ's
name, so agree they now together in preparation of a common power,
in defence of Christendom against our common enemy the Turk. And I
trust in God that this shall not only help us here to strengthen us
in this war, but also that, as God hath caused them to agree
together in the defence of his name, so shall he graciously bring
them to agree together in the truth of his faith. Therefore will I
let God work, and leave off contention. And I shall now say nothing
but that with which they who are themselves of the contrary mind
shall in reason have no cause to be discontented.

First, as for purgatory: Though they think there be none, yet since
they deny not that all the corps of Christendom for so many hundred
years have believed the contrary, and among them all the old
interpreters of scripture from the apostles' days down to our time,
many of whom they deny not for holy saints, these men must, of
their courtesy, hold my poor fear excused, that I dare not now
believe them against all those. And I beseech our Lord heartily for
them, that when they depart out of this wretched world, they find
no purgatory at all--provided God keep them from hell!

As for the merit of man in his good works, neither are those who
deny it fully agreed among themselves, nor is there any man almost
of them all that, since they began to write, hath not somewhat
changed and varied from himself. And far the more part are thus far
agreed with us: Like as we grant them that no good work is worth
aught toward heaven without faith; and that no good work of man is
rewardable in heaven of its own nature, but through the mere
goodness of God, who is pleased to put so high a price upon so poor
a thing; and that this price God setteth through Christ's passion,
and also because they are his own works with us (for no man worketh
good works toward God unless God work with him); and as we grant
them also that no man may be proud of his works for his own
imperfect working, because in all that he may do he can do God no
good, but is an unprofitable servant, and doth but his bare
duty--as we, I say, grant them these things, so this one thing or
twain do they grant us in turn: That men are bound to work good
works if they have time and power, and that whosoever worketh in
true faith most, shall be most rewarded. But then they add to this
that all his reward shall be given him for his faith alone and
nothing for his works at all, because his faith is the thing, they
say, that forceth him to work well. I will not strive with them for
this matter now. But yet I trust to the great goodness of God, that
if the question hang on that narrow point, since Christ saith in
the scripture in so many places that men shall in heaven be
rewarded for their works, he shall never suffer our souls--who are
but mean-witted men and can understand his words only as he himself
hath set them and as old holy saints have construed them before and
as all Christian people this thousand year have believed--to be
damned for lack of perceiving such a sharp subtle thing. Especially
since some men who have right good wits, and are beside that right
well learned, too, can in no wise perceive for what cause or why
these folk who take away the reward from good works and give that
reward all whole to faith alone, give the reward to faith rather
than to charity. For this grant they themselves, that faith serveth
of nothing unless she be accompanied by her sister charity. And
then saith the scripture, too, "Of these three virtues, faith,
hope, and charity, of all these three, the greatest is charity."
And therefore it seemeth as worthy to have the thanks as faith.
Howbeit, as I said, I will not strive for it, nor indeed as our
matter standeth I shall not greatly need to do so. For if they say
that he who suffereth tribulation and martyrdom for the faith shall
have high reward, not for his work but for his well-working faith,
yet since they grant that have it he shall, the cause of high
comfort in the third kind of tribulation standeth. And that is, you
know, the effect of all my purpose.

VINCENT:  Verily, good uncle, this is truly driven and tried unto
the uttermost, it seemeth to me. And therefore I pray you proceed
at your leisure.


XIII

ANTHONY:  Cousin, it would be a long work to peruse every comfort
that a man may well take in tribulation. For as many comforts, you
know, may a man take thereof, as there be good commodities therein.
And of those there are surely so many that it would be very long to
rehearse and treat of them. But meseemeth we cannot lightly better
perceive what profit and commodity, and thereby what comfort, they
may take of it who have it, than if we well consider what harm the
lack of it is, and thereby what discomfort the lack should be to
them that never have it.

So is it now that all holy men agree, and all the scripture is
full, and our own experience proveth before our eyes, that we are
not come into this wretched world to dwell here. We have not, as
St. Paul saith, our dwelling-city here, but we are seeking for the
city that is to come. And St. Paul telleth us that we do seek for
it, because he would put us in mind that we should seek for it, as
good folk who fain would come thither. For surely whosoever setteth
so little by it that he careth not to seek for it, it will I fear
be long ere he come to it, and marvellous great grace if ever he
come thither. "Run," saith St. Paul, "so that you may get it." If
it must then be gotten with running, when shall he come at it who
lifteth not one step toward it?

Now, because this world is, as I tell you, not our eternal
dwelling, but our little-while wandering, God would that we should
use it as folk who were weary of it. And he would that we should in
this vale of labour, toil, tears, and misery not look for rest and
ease, game, pleasure, wealth, and felicity. For those who do so
fare like a foolish fellow who, going towards his own house where
he should be wealthy, would for a tapster's pleasure become a
hostler by the way, and die in a stable, and never come home.

And would God that those that drown themselves in the desire of
this world's wretched wealth, were not yet more fools than he! But
alas, their folly as far surpasseth the foolishness of that silly
fellow as there is difference between the height of heaven and the
very depth of hell. For our Saviour saith, "Woe may you be that
laugh now, for you shall wail and weep." And "There is a time of
weeping," saith the scripture, "and there is a time of laughing."
But, as you see, he setteth the weeping time before, for that is
the time of this wretched world, and the laughing time shall come
after in heaven. There is also a time of sowing and a time of
reaping, too. Now must we in this world sow, that we may in the
other world reap. And in this short sowing time of this weeping
world, must we water our seed with the showers of our tears. And
then shall we have in heaven a merry laughing harvest forever.
"They went forth and sowed their seeds weeping," saith the prophet.
But what, saith he, shall follow thereof? "They shall come again
more than laughing, with great joy and exultation, with their
handfuls of corn in their hands." Lo, they that in their going home
towards heaven sow their seeds with weeping, shall at the day of
judgment come to their bodies again with everlasting plentiful
laughing. And to prove that this life is no laughing time, but
rather the time of weeping, we find that our Saviour himself wept
twice or thrice, but never find we that he laughed so much as once.
I will not swear that he never did, but at least he left us no
example of it. But on the other hand, he left us example of weeping.

Of weeping have we matter enough, both for our own sins and for
other folk's, too. For surely so should we do--bewail their
wretched sins, and not be glad to detract them nor envy them
either. Alas, poor souls, what cause is there to envy them who are
ever wealthy in this world, and ever out of tribulation? Of them
Job saith, "They lead all their days in wealth, and in a moment of
an hour descend into their graves and are painfully buried in
hell." St. Paul saith unto the Hebrews that those whom God loveth
he chastiseth, "And he scourgeth every son of his that he
receiveth." St. Paul saith also, "By many tribulations must we go
into the kingdom of God." And no marvel, for our Saviour Christ
said of himself unto his two disciples that were going into the
village of Emaus, "Know you not that Christ must suffer and so go
into his kingdom?" And would we who are servants look for more
privilege in our master's house than our master himself? Would we
get into his kingdom with ease, when he himself got not into his
own but by pain? His kingdom hath he ordained for his disciples,
and he saith unto us all, "If any man will be my disciple, let him
learn of me to do as I have done, take his cross of tribulation
upon his back and follow me." He saith not here, lo, "Let him laugh
and make merry." Now if heaven serve but for Christ's disciples,
and if they be those who take their cross of tribulation, when
shall these folk come there who never have tribulation? And if it
be true, as St. Paul saith, that God chastiseth all them that he
loveth and scourgeth every child whom he receiveth, and that to
heaven shall not come but such as he loveth and receiveth, when
shall they come thither whom he never chastiseth, nor never doth
vouchsafe to defile his hands upon them or give them so much as one
lash? And if we cannot (as St. Paul saith we cannot) come to heaven
but by many tribulations, how shall they come thither who never
have none at all? Thus see we well, by the very scripture itself,
how true the words are of old holy saints, who with one voice (in a
manner) say all one thing--that is, that we shall not have
continual wealth both in this world and in the other too. And
therefore those who in this world without any tribulation enjoy
their long continual course of never-interrupted prosperity have a
great cause of fear and discomfort lest they be far fallen out of
God's favour, and stand deep in his indignation and displeasure.
For he never sendeth them tribulation, which he is ever wont to
send them whom he loveth. But they that are in tribulation, I say,
have on the other hand a great cause to take in their grief great
inward comfort and spiritual consolation.


XIV

VINCENT:  Verily, good uncle, this seemeth so indeed. Howbeit, yet
methinketh that you say very sore in some things concerning such
persons as are in continual prosperity. And they are, you know, not
a few; and they are also those who have the rule and authority of
this world in their hand. And I know well that when they talk with
such great learned men as can, I suppose, tell the truth; and when
they ask them whether, while they make merry here in earth all
their lives, they may not yet for all that have heaven afterwards
too; they do tell them "Yes, yes," well enough. For I have heard
them tell them so myself.

ANTHONY:  I suppose, good cousin, that no very wise man, and
especially none that is also very good, will tell any man fully of
that fashion. But surely such as so say to them, I fear me that
they flatter them thus either for lucre or for fear.

Some of them think, peradventure, thus: "This man maketh much of me
now, and giveth me money also to fast and watch and pray for him.
But so, I fear me, would he do no more, if I should go tell him now
that all that I do for him will not serve him unless he go fast and
watch and pray for himself too. And if I should add thereto and say
further that I trust my diligent intercession for him may be the
means that God should the sooner give him grace to amend, and fast
and watch and pray and take affliction in his own body, for the
bettering of his sinful soul, he would be wonderous wroth with
that. For he would be loth to have any such grace at all as should
make him go leave off any of his mirth, and so sit and mourn for
his sin." Such mind as this, lo, have some of those who are not
unlearned, and have worldly wit at will, who tell great men such
tales as perilously beguile them. For the flatterer who so telleth
them would, if he told a true tale, jeopard to lose his lucre.

Some are there also who tell them such tales for consideration of
another fear. For seeing the man so sore set on his pleasure that
they despair of any amendment of his, whatsoever they should say to
him; and then seeing also that the man doth no great harm, but of a
courteous nature doth some good men some good; they pray God
themselves to send him grace. And so they let him lie lame still in
his fleshly lusts, at the pool that the gospel speaketh of, beside
the temple, in which they washed the sheep for the sacrifice, and
they tarry to see the water stirred. And when his good angel,
coming from God, shall once begin to stir the water of his heart,
and move him to the lowly meekness of a simple sheep, then if
he call them to him they will tell him another tale, and help to
bear him and plunge him into the pool of penance over the hard
ears! But in the meanwhile, for fear lest if he would wax never the
better he would wax much the worse; and from gentle, smooth, sweet,
and courteous, might wax angry, rough, froward, and sour, and
thereupon be troublous and tedious to the world to make fair
weather with; they give him fair words for the while and put him in
good comfort, and let him for the rest take his own chance.

And so deal they with him as the mother doth sometimes with her
child, when the little boy will not rise in time for her, but will
lie slug-abed, and when he is up weepeth because he has lain so
long, fearing to be beaten at school for his late coming thither.
She telleth him then that it is but early days, and he shall come
in time enough, and she biddeth him, "Go, good son. I warrant thee,
I have sent to thy master myself. Take thy bread and butter with
thee--thou shalt not be beaten at all!" And thus, if she can but
send him merry forth at the door, so that he weep not in her sight
at home, she careth not much if he be taken tardy and beaten when
he cometh to school.

Surely thus, I fear me, fare many friars and state's chaplains too,
in giving comfort to great men when they are both loth to displease
them. I cannot commend their doing thus, but surely I fear me thus
they do.


XV

VINCENT:  But, good uncle, though some do thus, this answereth not
the full matter. For we see that the whole church in the common
service uses divers collects in which all men pray, specially for
the princes and prelates, and generally every man for others and
for himself too, that God would vouchsafe to send them all
perpetual health and prosperity. And I can see no good man praying
God to send another sorrow, nor are there such prayers put in the
priests' breviaries, as far as I can hear. And yet if it were as
you say, good uncle, that perpetual prosperity were so perilous to
the soul, and tribulation also so fruitful, then meseemeth every
man would be bound of charity not only to pray God send his
neighbour sorrow, but also to help thereto himself. And when folk
were sick, they would be bound not to pray God send them health,
but when they came to comfort them, they should say, "I am glad,
good friend, that you are so sick--I pray God keep you long
therein!" And neither should any man give any medicine to another
nor take any medicine himself neither. For by the diminishing of
the tribulation he taketh away part of the profit from his soul,
which can with no bodily profit be sufficiently recompensed.

And also this you know well, good uncle, that we read in holy
scripture of men that were wealthy and rich and yet were good
withal. Solomon was, you know, the richest and most wealthy king
that any man could in his time tell of, and yet was he well beloved
with God. Job also was no beggar, perdy, nor no wretch otherwise.
Nor did he lose his riches and his wealth because God would not
that his friend should have wealth, but rather for the show of his
patience, to the increase of his merit and the confusion of the
devil. And, for proof that prosperity may stand with God's favour,
"God restored Job double of all" that ever he lost, and gave him
afterward long life to take his pleasure long. Abraham was also,
you know, a man of great substance, and so continued all his life
in honour and wealth. Yea, and when he died, too, he went unto such
wealth that when Lazarus died in tribulation and poverty, the best
place that he came to was that rich man's bosom!

Finally, good uncle, this we find before our eyes, and every day we
prove it by plain experience that many a man is right wealthy and
yet therewith right good, and many a miserable wretch is as evil as
he is wretched. And therefore it seemeth hard, good uncle, that
between prosperity and tribulation the matter should go thus, that
tribulation should be given always by God to those that he loveth,
for a sign of salvation, and prosperity sent for displeasure, as a
token of eternal damnation.


XVI

ANTHONY:  I said not, cousin, that for an undoubted rule, worldly
prosperity were always displeasing to God or tribulation evermore
wholesome to every man--or else I meant not to say it. For well I
know that our Lord giveth in this world unto either sort of folk
either sort of fortune. "He maketh his sun to shine both upon the
good and the bad, and his rain to fall both on the just and on the
unjust." And on the other hand, "he scourgeth every son that he
receiveth," yet he beateth not only good folk that he loveth, but
"there are many scourges for sinners" also. He giveth evil folk
good fortune in this world to call them by kindness--and, if they
thereby come not, the more is their unkindness. And yet where
wealth will not bring them, he giveth them sometimes sorrow. And
some who in prosperity cannot creep forward to God, in tribulation
they run toward him apace. "Their infirmities were multiplied,"
saith the prophet, "and after that they made haste." To some that
are good men, God sendeth wealth here also; and they give him great
thanks for his gift, and he rewardeth them for the thanks too. To
some good folk he sendeth sorrow, and they thank him for that too.
If God should give the goods of this world only to evil folk, then
would men think that God were not the Lord thereof. If God would
give the goods only to good men, then would folk take occasion to
serve him but for them. Some will in wealth fall into folly: "When
man was in honour, his understanding failed him; then was he
compared with beasts and made like unto them." Some men with
tribulation will fall into sin, and therefore saith the prophet,
"God will not leave the rod of the wicked men upon the lot of
righteous men, lest the righteous peradventure extend and stretch
out their hands to iniquity." So I deny not that either state,
wealth or tribulation, may be matter of virtue and matter of vice
also.

But this is the point, lo, that standeth here in question between
you and me: not whether every prosperity be a perilous token, but
whether continual wealth in this world without any tribulation be a
fearful sign of God's indignation. And therefore this mark that we
must shoot at, set up well in our sight, we shall now aim for the
shot and consider how near toward, or how far off, your arrows are
from the mark.

VINCENT:  Some of my bolts, uncle, will I now take up myself, and
readily put them under my belt again! For some of them, I see well,
are not worth the aiming. And no great marvel that I shoot wide,
while I somewhat mistake the mark.

ANTHONY:  Those that make toward the mark and light far too short,
when they are shot, shall I take up for you.

To prove that perpetual wealth should be no evil token, you say
first that for princes and prelates, and every man for others, we
pray all for perpetual prosperity, and that in the common prayers
of the church, too.

Then say you secondly, that if prosperity were so perilous and
tribulation so profitable, every man ought to pray God to send
others sorrow.

Thirdly, you furnish your objections with examples of Solomon, Job,
and Abraham.

And fourthly, in the end of all, you prove by experience of our own
time daily before our face, that some wealthy folk are good and
some needy ones very wicked. That last bolt, since I say the same
myself, I think you will be content to take up, it lieth so far
wide.

VINCENT:  That will I, with a good will, uncle.

ANTHONY:  Well, do so, then, cousin, and we shall aim for the rest.

First must you, cousin, be sure that you look well to the mark, and
that you cannot do so unless you know what tribulation is. For
since that is one of the things that we principally speak of,
unless you consider well what it is, you may miss the mark again.

I suppose now that you will agree that tribulation is every such
thing as troubleth and grieveth a man either in body or mind, and
is as it were the prick of a thorn, a bramble, or a briar thrust
into his flesh or into his mind. And surely, cousin, the prick that
very sore pricketh the mind surpasseth in pain the grief that
paineth the body, almost as far as doth a thorn sticking in the
heart surpass and exceed in pain the thorn that is thrust in the
heel.

Now cousin, if tribulation be this that I call it, then shall you
soon consider this: There are more kinds of tribulation
peradventure than you thought on before. And thereupon it followeth
also, since every kind of tribulation is an interruption of wealth,
that prosperity (which is but another name for wealth) may be
discontinued by more ways than you would before have thought. Then
say I thus unto you, cousin: Since tribulation is not only such
pangs as pain the body, but every trouble also that grieveth the
mind, many good men have many tribulations that every man marketh
not, and consequently their wealth is interrupted when other men
are not aware. For think you, cousin, that the temptations of the
devil, the world, and the flesh, soliciting the mind of a good man
unto sin, are not a great inward trouble and grief to his heart? To
such wretches as care not for their conscience, but like
unreasonable beasts follow their foul affections, many of these
temptations are no trouble at all, but matter of their bodily
pleasure. But unto him, cousin, that standeth in dread of God, the
tribulation of temptation is so painful that, to be rid of it or to
be sure of the victory, he would gladly give more than half his
substance, be it never so great. Now if he who careth not for God
think that this trouble is but a trifle, and that with such
tribulation prosperity is not interrupted, let him cast in his mind
if he himself come upon a fervent longing for something which he
cannot get (as a good man will not), as perchance his pleasure of
some certain good woman who will not be caught. And then let him
tell me whether the ruffle of his desire shall not so torment his
mind that all the pleasures that he can take beside shall, for lack
of that one, not please him a pin! And I dare be bold to warrant
him that the pain in resisting, and the great fear of falling, that
many a good man hath in his temptation, is an anguish and a grief
every deal as great as this.

Now I say further, cousin, that if this be true, as indeed it is,
that such trouble is tribulation, and thereby consequently an
interruption of prosperous wealth, no man meaneth precisely to pray
for another to keep him in continual prosperity without any manner
of discontinuance or change in this world. For that prayer, without
other condition added or implied, would be inordinate and very
childish. For it would be to pray either that they should never
have temptation, or else that if they had they might follow and
fulfil their affection. Who would dare, good cousin, for shame or
for sin, for himself or any other man, to make this kind of prayer?

Besides this, cousin, the church, you know, well adviseth every man
to fast, to watch, and to pray, both for taming of his fleshly
lusts and also to mourn and lament his sin before committed and to
bewail his offence done against God, as they did at the city of
Nineve, and as the prophet David did for his sin put affliction to
his flesh. And when a man so doth, cousin, is this no tribulation
to him because he doth it himself? For I know you would agree that
it would be, if another man did it against his will. Then is
tribulation, you know, tribulation still, though it be taken well
in worth. Yea, and though it be taken with very right good will,
yet is pain, you know, pain, and therefore so is it, though a man
do it himself. Then, since the church adviseth every man to take
tribulation for his sin, whatsoever words you find in any prayer,
they never mean, do you be fast and sure, to pray God to keep every
good man (nor every bad man neither) from every kind of tribulation.

Now he who is not in a certain kind of tribulation, as peradventure
in sickness or in loss of goods, is not yet out of tribulation. For
he may have his ease of body or mind disquieted (and thereby his
wealth interrupted) with another kind of tribulation, as is either
temptation to a good man, or voluntary affliction, either of body
by penance or of mind by contrition and heaviness for his sin and
offence against God. And thus I say that for precise perpetual
wealth and prosperity in this world--that is to say, for the
perpetual lack of all trouble and tribulation--no wise man prayeth
either for himself or for any man else. And thus I answer your
first objection.

Now before I meddle with your second, your third will I join to
this. For upon this answer will the solution of your examples
fittingly depend.

As for Solomon, he was, as you say, all his days a marvellous
wealthy king, and much was he beloved with God, I know, in the
beginning of his reign. But that the favour of God continued with
him, as his prosperity did, that cannot I tell, and therefore will
I not warrant it. But surely we see that his continual wealth made
him fall into wanton folly, first in multiplying wives to a
horrible number, contrary to the commandment of God, given in the
law of Moses, and secondly in taking to wife among others some who
were infidels, contrary to another commandment of God's written
law. Also we see that finally, by means of his infidel wife, he
fell into maintenance of idolatry himself. And of this we find no
amendment or repentance, as we find of his father. And therefore,
though he were buried where his father was, yet whether he went to
the rest that his father did, through some secret sorrow for his
sin at last--that is to say, by some kind of tribulation--I cannot
tell, and am content therefore to trust well and pray God that he
did so. But surely we are not so sure, and therefore the example of
Solomon can very little serve you. For you might as well lay it for
a proof that God favoureth idolatry as that he favoureth
prosperity; for Solomon was, you know, in both.

As for Job, since our question hangeth upon prosperity that is
perpetual, the wealth of Job, which was interrupted with so great
adversity, can, as you yourself see, serve you for no example. And
that God gave him here in this world all things double that he
lost, little toucheth my matter, which denieth not prosperity to be
God's gift, and given to some good men, too; namely, to such as
have tribulation too.

But in Abraham, cousin, I suppose is all your chief hold, because
you not only show riches and prosperity perpetual in him through
the course of all his whole life in this world, but after his death
also. Lazarus, that poor man, who lived in tribulation and died for
pure hunger and thirst, had after his death his place of comfort
and rest in Abraham's--that wealthy man's--bosom. But here must you
consider that Abraham had not such continual prosperity but what it
was discontinued with divers tribulations.

Was it nothing to him, think you, to leave his own country, and at
God's sending to go into a strange land, which God promised him and
his seed forever, but in all his life he gave him never a foot? Was
it no trouble, that his cousin Loth and himself were fain to part
company, because their servants could not agree together? Though he
recovered Loth again from the three kings, was his capture no
trouble to him, think you, in the meanwhile? Was the destruction of
the five cities no heaviness to his heart? Any man would think so,
who readeth in the story what labour he made to save them. His
heart was, I daresay, in no little sorrow, when he was fain to let
Abimelech the king have his wife. Though God provided to keep her
undefiled and turned all to wealth, yet it was no little woe to him
in the meantime. What continual grief was it to his heart, many a
long day, that he had no child begotten of his own body? He that
doubteth thereof shall find in Genesis Abraham's own moan made to
God. No man doubteth but Ismael was great comfort unto him at his
birth; and was it no grief, then, when he must cast out the mother
and the child both? As for Isaac, who was the child of the promise,
although God kept his life, that was unlooked for. Yet while the
loving father bound him and went about to behead him and offer him
up in sacrifice, who but himself can conceive what heaviness his
heart had then? I should suppose (since you speak of Lazarus) that
Lazarus' own death panged him not so sore. Then, as Lazarus' pain
was patiently borne, so was Abraham's taken not only patiently
but--which is a thing much more meritorious--of obedience
willingly. And therefore, even if Abraham had not far excelled
Lazarus in merit of reward (as he did indeed) for many other things
besides, and especially for that he was a special patriarch of the
faith, yet would he have far surpassed him even by the merit of
that tribulation well taken here for God's sake too. And so serveth
for your purpose no man less than Abraham!

But now, good cousin, let us look a little longer here upon the
rich Abraham and Lazarus the poor. And as we shall see Lazarus set
in wealth somewhat under the rich Abraham, so shall we see another
rich man lie full low beneath Lazarus, crying and calling out of
his fiery couch that Lazarus might, with a drop of water falling
from his finger's end, a little cool and refresh the tip of his
burning tongue. Consider well now what Abraham answered to the rich
wretch: "Son, remember that thou hast in thy life received wealth,
and Lazarus likewise pain, but now receiveth he comfort, and thou
sorrow, pain, and torment." Christ described his wealth and his
prosperity: gay and soft apparel with royal delicate fare,
continually day by day. "He did fare royally every day," saith our
Saviour; his wealth was continual, lo, no time of tribulation
between. And Abraham telleth him the same tale, that he had taken
his wealth in this world, and Lazarus likewise his pain, and that
they had now changed each to the clean contrary--poor Lazarus from
tribulation into wealth, and the rich man from his continual
prosperity into perpetual pain. Here was laid expressly to Lazarus
no very great virtue by name, nor to this rich glutton no great
heinous crime but the taking of his continual ease and pleasure,
without any tribulation or grief, of which grew sloth and
negligence to think upon the poor man's pain. For that ever he
himself saw Lazarus and knew that he died for hunger at his door,
that laid neither Christ nor Abraham to his charge. And therefore,
cousin, this story of which, by occasion of Abraham and Lazarus,
you put me in remembrance, well declareth what peril there is in
continual worldly wealth; and contrariwise what comfort cometh of
tribulation. And thus, as your other examples of Solomon and Job
nothing for the matter further you, so your example of rich Abraham
and poor Lazarus hath not a little hindered you.


XVII

VINCENT:  Surely, uncle, you have shaken my examples sorely, and
have in your aiming of your shot removed me these arrows,
methinketh, further off from the mark than methought they stuck
when I shot them! And I shall therefore now be content to take them
up again.

But meseemeth surely that my second shot may stand. For of truth,
if every kind of tribulation be so profitable that it be good to
have it, as you say it is, then I cannot see why any man should
either wish, or pray, or do any manner of thing to have any kind of
tribulation withdrawn either from himself or from any friend of his.

ANTHONY:  I think indeed tribulation so good and profitable that I
might doubt, as you do, why a man might labour and pray to be
delivered of it, were it not that God, who teacheth us the one,
teacheth us also the other. For as he biddeth us take our pain
patiently, and exhort our neighbours to do also the same, so
biddeth he us also not forbear to do our best to remove the pain
from us both. And then, since it is God who teacheth both, I shall
not need to break my brain in devising wherefore he would bid us to
do both, the one seeming opposed to the other.

If he send the scourge of scarcity and great famine, he will that
we shall bear it patiently; but yet will he that we shall eat our
meat when we can get it. If he send us the plague of pestilence, he
will that we shall patiently take it; but yet will he that we let
blood, and lay plasters to draw it and ripen it, and lance it, and
get it away. Both these points teacheth God in scripture, in more
than many places. Fasting is better than eating, and hath more
thanks of God, and yet will God that we shall eat. Praying is
better than drinking, and much more pleasing to God, and yet will
God that we shall drink. Keeping vigil is much more acceptable to
God than sleeping, and yet will God that we shall sleep. God hath
given us our bodies here to keep, and will that we maintain them to
do him service with, till he send for us hence.

Now we cannot tell surely how much tribulation may mar the body or
peradventure hurt the soul also. Therefore the apostle, after he
had commanded the Corinthians to deliver to the devil the
abominable fornicator who forbore not the bed of his own father's
wife, yet after he had been a while accursed and punished for his
sin, the apostle commanded them charitably to receive him again and
give him consolation, "that the greatness of his sorrow should not
swallow him up." And therefore, when God sendeth the tempest, he
will that the shipmen shall get them to their tackling and do the
best they can for themselves, that the sea eat them not up. For
help ourselves as well as we can, he can make his plague as sore
and as long-lasting as he himself please.

And as he will that we do for ourselves, so will he that we do for
our neigbour too. And he will that we shall in this world have pity
on each other and not be _sine affectione,_ for which the apostle
rebuketh them that lack their tender affection here. So of charity
we should be sorry too for the pain of those upon whom, for
necessary cause, we ourselves be driven to put it. And whosoever
saith that for pity of his neighbour's soul he will have no pity of
his body, let him be sure that, as St. John saith, "He that loveth
not his neighbour whom he seeth, loveth but little God, whom he
seeth not," so he who hath no pity on the pain that he seeth his
neighbour feel before him, pitieth little (whatsoever he say) the
pain of his soul that he seeth not.

Yet God sendeth us also such tribulation sometimes because it is
his pleasure to have us pray unto him for help. And therefore, the
scripture telleth that, when St. Peter was in prison, the whole
church without intermission prayed incessantly for him, and at
their fervent prayer God by miracle delivered him. When the
disciples in the tempest stood in fear of drowning, they prayed
unto Christ and said, "Save us, Lord, we perish," and then at their
prayer he shortly ceased the tempest. And now see we proved often
that in sore weather or sickness by general processions God giveth
gracious help. And many a man in his great pain and sickness, by
calling upon God is marvellously made whole. This is the goodness
of God who, because in wealth we remember him not, but forget to
pray to him, sendeth us sorrow and sickness to force us to draw
toward him, and compelleth us to call upon him and pray for release
of our pain. When we learn thereby to know him and to pray to him,
we take a good occasion to fall afterward into further grace.


XVIII

VINCENT:  Verily, good uncle, with this good answer I am well
content.

ANTHONY:  Yea, cousin, but many men are there with whom God is not
content! For they abuse this great high goodness of his, whom
neither fair treating nor hard handling can cause to remember their
maker. But in wealth they are wanton and forget God and follow
their pleasure, and when God with tribulation draweth them toward
him, then wax they mad and draw back as much as ever they can, and
run and seek help at any other hand rather than at his. Some for
comfort seek to the flesh, some to the world, and some to the devil
himself.

Consider some man who in worldly prosperity is very dull and hath
stepped deep into many a sore sin; which sins, when he did them, he
counted for part of his pleasure. God, willing of his goodness to
call the man to grace, casteth a remorse into his mind, after his
first sleep, and maketh him lie a little while and bethink him.
Then beginneth he to remember his life, and from that he falleth to
think upon his death, and how he must leave all his worldly wealth
within a while behind here in this world, and walk hence alone, he
knows not whither. Nor knows he how soon he shall take his journey
thither, nor can he tell what company he shall meet there. And then
beginneth he to think that it would be good to make sure and to be
merry, so that he be wise therewith, lest there happen to be indeed
such black bugbears as folk call devils, whose torments he was wont
to take for poet's tales. Those thoughts, if they sink deep, are a
sore tribulation. And surely, if he takes hold of the grace that
God therein offereth him, his tribulation is wholesome. And it
shall be full comforting to remember that God by this tribulation
calleth him and biddeth him come home, out of the country of sin
that he was bred and brought up so long in, and come into the land
of behest that floweth milk and honey. And then if he follow this
calling, as many a one full well doth, joyful shall his sorrow be.
And glad shall he be to change his life, to leave his wanton
pleasures and do penance for his sins, bestowing his time upon some
better business.

But some men, now, when this calling of God causeth them to be sad,
they are loth to leave their sinful lusts that hang in their
hearts, especially if they have any kind of living such that they
must needs leave it off or fall deeper into sin, or if they have
done so many great wrongs that they have many amends to make if
they follow God, which must diminish much their money. Then are
these folk, alas, woefully bewrapped, for God pricketh them of his
great goodness still. And the grief of this great pang pincheth
them at the heart, and of wickedness they wry away. And from this
tribulation they turn to their flesh for help, and labour to shake
off this thought. And then they mend their pillow and lay their
head softer and essay to sleep. And when that will not be, then
they talk a while with those who lie by them. If that cannot be
either, then they lie and long for day, and get them forth about
their worldly wretchedness, the matter of their prosperity, and the
selfsame sinful things with which they displease God most. And at
length, when they have many times behaved in this manner, God
utterly casteth them off. And then they set naught by either God or
devil. "When the sinner cometh even into the depth, then he
contemneth," and setteth naught by anything, saving worldly fear
that may befall by chance, or that needs must, he knoweth well,
befall once by death.

But alas, when death cometh, then cometh again his sorrow. Then
will no soft bed serve, nor no company make him merry. Then must he
leave his outward worship and comfort of his glory, and lie panting
in his bed as it were on a pine bench. Then cometh his fear of his
evil life and of his dreadful death. Then cometh his torment, his
cumbered conscience and fear of his heavy judgment. Then the devil
draweth him to despair with imagination of hell, and suffereth him
not then to take it for a fable--and yet, if he do, then the wretch
findeth it no fable. Ah, woe worth the time, that folk think not of
this in time!

God sometimes sendeth a man great trouble in his mind, and great
tribulation about his worldly goods, because he would of his
goodness take his delight and confidence from them. And yet the man
withdraweth no part of his foolish fancies, but falleth more
fervently to them than before, and setteth his whole heart, like a
fool, more upon them. And then he betaketh him all to the devices
of his worldly counsellors, and without any counsel of God or any
trust put in him, maketh many wise ways--or so he thinks, but all
turn at length to folly, and one subtle drift driveth another to
naught.

Some have I see even in their last sickness, set up in their
deathbed, underpropped with pillows, take their playfellows to them
and comfort themselves with cards. And this, they said, did ease
them well, to put fancies out of their heads. And what fancies,
think you? Such as I told you right now, of their own lewd life and
peril of their soul, of heaven and of hell, that irked them to
think of. And therefore they cast it out with cards, playing as
long as ever they might, till the pure pangs of death pulled their
heart from their play, and put them in such a case that they could
not reckon their game. And then their gamesters left them and slyly
slunk away, and it was not long ere they galped up the ghost. And
what game they came then to, that God knoweth and not I. I pray God
it were good, but I fear it very sore.

Some men are there also that do as did King Saul, and in their
tribulation go seek unto the devil. This king had commanded all
those to be destroyed who used the false abominable superstition of
this ungracious witchcraft and necromancy. And yet fell he to such
folly afterwards himself, that ere he went to battle he sought unto
a witch and besought her to raise up a dead man to tell him how he
should fare. Now God had showed him by Samuel before that he should
come to naught, and he went about no amendment, but waxed worse and
worse, so that God would not look to him. And when he sought by the
prophet to have answer of God, there came no answer to him, which
he thought strange. And because he was not heard by God at his
pleasure, he made suit to the devil, desiring a woman by witchcraft
to raise up the dead Samuel. But he had such success thereof as
commonly they have who in their business meddle with such matters.
For an evil answer had he, and an evil fortune thereafter--his army
discomfited and himself slain. And as it is rehearsed in
Paralipomenon, the tenth chapter of the first book, one cause of
his fall was for lack of trust in God, for which he left off taking
counsel of God and fell to seek counsel of the witch, against God's
prohibition in the law and against his own good deed by which he
punished and put out all witches so short a time before. Such
fortune let them look for, who play the same part! I see many do
so, who in a great loss send to seek a conjurer to get their
belongings again. And marvellous things there they see, sometimes,
but never great of their good. And many a silly fool is there who,
when he lies sick, will meddle with no physic in no manner of wise,
nor send his urine to no learned man, but will send his cap or his
hose to a wisewoman, otherwise called a witch. Then sendeth she
word back that she hath spied in his hose where, when he took no
heed, he was taken with a spirit between two doors as he went in
the twilight. But the spirit would not let him feel it for five
days after, and it hath all the while festered in his body, and
that is the grief that paineth him so sore. But let him go to no
leechcraft nor any manner of physic--other than good meat and
strong drink--for medicines would pickle him up. But he shall have
five leaves of valerian that she enchanted with a charm and
gathered with her left hand. Let him fasten those five leaves to
his right thumb by a green thread--not bind it fast, but let it
hang loose. He shall never need to change it, provided it fall not
away, but let it hang till he be whole and he shall need it no
more. In such wise witches, and in such mad medicines, have many
fools a great deal more faith than in God.

And thus, cousin, as I tell you, all these folk who in their
tribulation call not upon God, but seek for their ease and help
elsewhere--to the flesh and the world, and to the flinging
fiend--the tribulation that God's goodness sendeth them for good,
they themselves by their folly turn into their harm. And those who,
on the other hand, seek unto God therein, both comfort and profit
they greatly take thereby.


XIX

VINCENT:  I like well, good uncle, all your answers therein. But
one doubt yet remaineth there in my mind, which ariseth upon this
answer that you make. And when that doubt is solved, I will, mine
own good uncle, encumber you no further for this time. For
methinketh that I do you very much wrong to give you occasion to
labour yourself so much in matter of some study, with long talking
at once. I will therefore at this time move you but one thing, and
seek some other time at your greater ease for the rest.

My doubt, good uncle, is this: I perceive well by your answers,
gathered and considered together, that you will well agree that a
man may both have worldly wealth and yet well go to God; and that,
on the other hand, a man may be miserable and live in tribulation
and yet go to the devil. And as a man may please God by patience in
adversity, so may he please God by thanks given in prosperity. Now
since you grant these things to be such that either of them both
may be matter of virtue or else matter of sin, matter of damnation
or matter of salvation, they seem neither good nor bad of their own
nature, but things of themselves equal and indifferent, turning to
good or to the contrary according as they be taken. And then if
this be thus, I can perceive no cause why you should give the
pre-eminence unto tribulation, or wherefore you should reckon more
cause of comfort in it than in prosperity, but rather a great deal
less--in a manner, by half.

For in prosperity a man is well at ease, and may also, by giving
thanks to God, get good unto his soul; whereas in tribulation,
though he may merit by patience (as the other, in abundance of
worldly wealth, may merit by thanks), yet lacketh he much comfort
that the wealthy man hath, in that he is sore grieved with
heaviness and pain. Besides, a wealthy man, well at ease, may pray
to God quietly and merrily with alacrity and great quietness of
mind, whereas he who lieth groaning in his grief cannot endure to
pray nor can he hardly think upon anything but his pain.

ANTHONY:  To begin, cousin, where you leave off: The prayers of him
that is in wealth and him that is in woe, if the men be both
wicked, are both alike. For neither hath the one desire to pray,
nor the other either. And as one is hindered with his pain, so is
the other with his pleasure--saving that pain stirreth a man
sometimes to call upon God in his grief, though he be right bad,
whereas pleasure pulleth his mind another way, though he be good
enough.

And this point I think there are few that can, if they say true,
say that they find it otherwise. For in tribulation (which cometh,
you know, in sundry kinds) any man that is not a dull beast or a
desperate wretch calleth upon God, not hoverly but right heartily,
and setteth his heart full whole upon his request, so sore he
longeth for ease and help of his heaviness. But when we are wealthy
and well at our ease, while our tongue pattereth upon our prayers
apace--good God, how many mad ways our mind wandereth the while!

Yet I know well that in some tribulation there is such sore
sickness or other grievous bodily pain that it would be hard for a
man to say a longer prayer of matins. And yet some who lie dying
say full devoutly the seven psalms and other prayers with the
priest at their anointing. But those who for the grief of their
pain cannot endure to do it, or who are more tender and lack that
strong heart and stomach that some others have, God requireth no
such long prayers of them. But the lifting up of their heart alone,
without any words at all, is more acceptable to him from one in
such a state, than long service so said as folk usually say it in
health. The martyrs in their agony made no long prayers aloud, but
one inch of such a prayer, so prayed in that pain, was worth a
whole ell or more, even of their own prayers, prayed at some other
time.

Great learned men say that Christ, albeit that he was true God, and
as God was in eternal equal bliss with his Father, yet as man
merited not only for us but for himself too. For proof of this they
lay in these words the authority of St. Paul: "Christ hath humbled
himself, and became obedient unto the death, and that unto the
death of the cross; for which thing God hath also exalted him and
given him a name which is above all names, that in the name of
Jesus every knee be bowed, both of the celestial creatures and of
the terrestrial and of the infernal too, and that every tongue
shall confess that our lord Jesus Christ is in the glory of God his
Father." Now if it be so as these great learned men say, upon such
authorities of holy scripture, that our Saviour merited as man, and
as man deserved reward not for us only but for himself also; then
were there in his deeds, it seemeth, sundry degrees and differences
of deserving. His washing of the disciples' feet was not, then, of
like merit as his passion, nor his sleep of like merit as his vigil
and his prayer--no, nor his prayers peradventure all of like merit,
either. But though there was not, nor could be, in his most blessed
person any prayer but was excellent and incomparably surpassing the
prayer of any mere creature, yet his own were not all alike, but
one far above another. And then if it thus be, of all his holy
prayers, the chief seemeth me those that he made in his great agony
and pain of his bitter passion. The first was when he thrice fell
prostrate in his agony, when the heaviness of his heart with fear
of death at hand, so painful and so cruel as he well beheld it,
made such a fervent commotion in his blessed body that the bloody
sweat of his holy flesh dropped down on the ground. The others were
the painful prayers that he made upon the cross, where, for all the
torment that he hanged in--of beating, nailing, and stretching out
all his limbs, with the wresting of his sinews and breaking of his
tender veins, and the sharp crown of thorns so pricking him into
the head that his blessed blood streamed down all his face--in all
these hideous pains, in all their cruel despites, yet two very
devout and fervent prayers he made. One was for the pardon of those
who so dispiteously put him to his pain, and the other about his
own deliverance, commending his own soul to his holy Father in
heaven. These prayers of his, made in his most pain, among all that
ever he made, reckon I for the chief. And these prayers of our
Saviour at his bitter passion, and of his holy martyrs in the
fervour of their torment, shall serve us to see that there is no
prayer made at pleasure so strong and effectual as that made in
tribulation.

Now come I to the reasoning you make, when you tell me that I grant
you that both in wealth and in woe a man may be wicked and offend
God, in the one by impatience and in the other by fleshly lust. And
on the other hand, both in tribulation and prosperity too, a man
may also do very well and deserve thanks of God by thanksgiving to
God for his gift of riches, worship, and wealth, as well as for his
gift of need and penury, imprisonment, sickness, and pain. And
therefore you cannot see why I should give any pre-eminence in
comfort unto tribulation, but you would rather allow prosperity for
the thing more comforting. And that not a little, but in manner by
double, since therein hath the soul comfort and the body too--the
soul by thanksgiving unto God for his gifts, and the body by being
well at ease--whereas the person pained in tribulation taketh no
comfort but in his soul alone.

First, as for your double comfort, cousin, you may cut off the one!
For a man in prosperity, though he be bound to thank God for his
gifts, wherein he feeleth ease, and may be glad also that he giveth
thanks to God; yet hath he little cause of comfort in that he
taketh his ease here, unless you wish to call by the name of
comfort the sensual feeling of bodily pleasure. I deny not that
sometimes men so take it, when they say, "This good drink
comforteth well mine heart." But comfort, cousin, is properly
taken, by them that take it right, rather for the consolation of
good hope that men take in their heart, of some good growing toward
them, than for a present pleasure with which the body is delighted
and tickled for a while.

Now, though a man without patience can have no reward for his pain,
yet when his pain is patiently taken for God's sake and his will
conformed to God's pleasure therein, God rewardeth the sufferer in
proportion to his pain. And this thing appeareth by many a place in
scripture, some of which I have showed you and yet shall I show you
more. But never found I any place in scripture that I remember in
which, though a rich man thanked God for his gifts, our Lord
promised him any reward in heaven for the very reason that he took
his ease and his pleasures here. And therefore, since I speak only
of such comfort as is true comfort indeed, by which a man hath hope
of God's favour and remission of his sins, with diminishing of his
pain in purgatory or else reward in heaven; and since such comfort
cometh of tribulation well taken, but not of pleasure even though
it be well taken; therefore of your comfort that you double by
prosperity, you may, as I told you, very well cut away the half.

Now, why I give prerogative in comfort unto tribulation far above
prosperity, though a man may do well in both, of this will I show
you causes two or three. First, as I before have at length showed
you out of all question, continual wealth interrupted with no
tribulation is a very discomfortable token of everlasting
damnation. Thereupon it followeth that tribulation is one cause of
comfort unto a man's heart, in that it dischargeth him of the
discomfort that he might of reason take of overlong-lasting wealth.
Another is, that the scripture much commendeth tribulation as
occasion of more profit than wealth and prosperity, not only to
those who are therein but to those who resort unto them too. And
therefore saith Ecclesiastes, "Better is it to go to the house of
weeping and wailing for some man's death, than to the house of a
feast; for in that house of heaviness is a man put in remembrance
of the end of every man, and while he liveth he thinketh what shall
come after." And after yet he further saith, "The heart of wise men
is where heaviness is, and the heart of fools is where there is
mirth and gladness." And verily, where you shall hear worldly mirth
seem to be commended in scripture, it is either commonly spoken, as
in the person of some worldly-disposed people, or else understood
of spiritual rejoicing, or else meant of some small moderate
refreshing of the mind against a heavy and discomfortable dullness.

Now, prosperity was promised to the children of Israel in the old
law as a special gift of God, because of their imperfection at that
time, to draw them to God with gay things and pleasant, as men, to
make children learn, give them cake-bread and butter. For, as the
scripture maketh mention, that people were much after the manner of
children in lack of wit and in waywardness. And therefore was their
master Moses called Pedagogus, that is, a teacher of children or
(as they call such a one in the grammar schools) an "usher" or
"master of the petits." For, as St. Paul saith, "the old law
brought nothing unto perfection." And God also threateneth folk
with tribulation in this world for sin, not because worldly
tribulation is evil, but that we should well beware of the sickness
of sin for fear of the thing to follow. For that thing, though it
be indeed a very good wholesome thing if we take it well, is yet,
because it is painful, the thing that we are loth to have. But this
I say yet again and again, that the scripture undoubtedly so
commandeth tribulation as far the better thing in this world toward
the getting of the true good that God giveth in the world to come,
that in comparison it utterly discommendeth this worldly wretched
wealth and discomfortable comfort. For to what other thing tend the
words of Ecclesiastes that I rehearsed to you now, that it is
better to be in the house of heaviness than to be at a feast?
Whereto tendeth this comparison of his, that the wise man's heart
draweth thither where folk are in sadness, and the heart of a fool
is where he may find mirth? Whereto tendeth this threat of the wise
man, that he who delighteth in wealth shall fall into woe?
"Laughter," saith he, "shall be mingled with sorrow, and the end of
mirth is taken up with heaviness." And our Saviour saith himself,
"Woe be to you that laugh, for you shall weep and wail." But he
saith, on the other hand, "Blessed are they that weep and wail, for
they shall be comforted." And he saith to his disciples, "The world
shall rejoice and you shall be sorry, but your sorrow shall be
turned into joy." And so it is now, as you well know, and the mirth
of many who then were in joy is now turned all to sorrow. And thus
you see plainly by scripture that, in matter of true comfort,
tribulation is as far above prosperity as the day is about the
night.

Another pre-eminence of tribulation over wealth, in occasion of
merit and reward, shall well appear upon certain considerations
well marked in them both. Tribulation meriteth in patience and in
the obedient conforming of the man's will unto God, and in thanks
given to God for his visitation. If you reckon me now, against
these, many other good deeds that a wealthy man may do--as, by
riches to give alms, or by authority to labour in doing many men
justice--or if you find further any other such thing; first, I say
that the patient person in tribulation hath, in all these virtues
of a wealthy man, an occasion of merit which the wealthy man hath
not. For it is easy for the person who is in tribulation to be well
willing to do the selfsame thing if he could. And then shall his
good will, where the power lacketh, go very near to the merit of
the deed. But the wealthy man, now, is not in a like position with
regard to the will of patience and conformity and thanks given to
God for tribulation. For the wealthy man is not so ready to be
content to be in tribulation, which is the occasion of the
sufferer's deserving, as the troubled person is to be content to be
in prosperity, to do the good deeds that the wealthy man doth.
Besides this, all that the wealthy man doth, though he could not do
them without those things that are counted for wealth and called by
that name--as, not do great alms without great riches, nor do these
many men right by his labour without great authority--yet may he do
these things being not in wealth indeed. As where he taketh his
wealth for no wealth and his riches for no riches, and in heart
setteth by neither one, but secretly liveth in a contrite heart and
a penitential life, as many times did the prophet David, being a
great king, so that worldly wealth was no wealth to him. And
therefore worldly wealth is not of necessity the cause of these
good deeds, since he may do them (and he doth them best, indeed) to
whom the thing that worldly folk call wealth is yet, for his
godly-set mind, withdrawn from the delight thereof, no pleasure nor
wealth at all.

Finally, whenever the wealthy man doth those good virtuous deeds,
if we rightly consider the nature of them, we shall perceive that
in the doing of them he doth ever, for the ratio and proportion of
those deeds, diminish the matter of his worldly wealth. In giving
great alms, he parteth with a certain amount of his worldly goods,
which are in that amount the matter of his wealth. In labouring
about the doing of many good deeds, his labour diminisheth his
quiet and his rest, and to that extent it diminisheth his wealth,
if pain and wealth be each contrary to the other, as I think you
will agree that they are. Now, whosoever then will well consider
the thing, he shall, I doubt not, perceive and see that in these
good deeds that the wealthy man doth, though it be his wealth that
maketh him able to do them, yet in so far as he doth them he
departeth in that proportion from the nature of wealth toward the
nature of some tribulation. And therefore even in those good deeds
themselves that prosperity doth, the prerogative in goodness of
tribulation above wealth doth appear.

Now if it happen that some man cannot perceive this point because
the wealthy man, for all his alms, abideth rich still, and for all
his good labour abideth still in his authority, let him consider
that I speak only according to proportion. And because the
proportion of all that he giveth of his goods is very little in
respect of what he leaveth, therefore is the reason haply with some
folk little perceived. But if it were so that he went on giving
until he had given out all, and left himself nothing, then would
even a blind man see it. For as he would be come from riches to
poverty, so would he be willingly fallen from wealth into
tribulation. And in respect of labour and rest, the same would be
true. Whosoever can consider this, shall see that, in every good
deed done by the wealthy man, the matter is proportionately the
same.

Then, since we have somewhat weighed the virtues of prosperity, let
us consider on the other hand the afore-named things that are the
matter of merit and reward in tribulation--that is, patience,
conformity, and thanksgiving. Patience the wealthy man hath not, in
so far as he is wealthy. For if he be pinched in any point in which
he taketh patience, to that extent he suffereth some tribulation.
And so not by his prosperity but by his tribulation hath he that
merit. It is the same if we would say that the wealthy man hath
another virtue instead of patience--that is, the keeping of himself
from pride and such other sins as wealth would bring him to. For
the resisting of such motions is, as I before told you, without any
doubt a diminishing of fleshly wealth, and is a very true kind (and
one of the most profitable kinds) of tribulation. So all that good
merit groweth to the wealthy man not by his wealth but by the
diminishing of his wealth with wholesome tribulation.

The most colour of comparison is in the other two; that is, in the
conformity of man's will unto God, and in thanks given unto God.
For as the good man, in tribulation sent him by God, conformeth his
will to God's will in that behalf, and giveth God thanks for it; so
doth the wealthy man, in his wealth which God giveth him, conform
his will to God in that point, since he is well content to take it
as his gift, and giveth God also right hearty thanks for it. And
thus, as I said, in these two things can you catch the most colour
to compare the wealthy man's merit with the merit of tribulation.

But yet that they be not matches, you may soon see by this: For no
one can conform his will unto God's in tribulation and give him
thanks for it, but such a man as hath in that point a very
specially good disposition. But he that is truly wicked, or hath in
his heart but very little good, may well be content to take wealth
at God's hand, and say, "Marry, I thank you, sir, for this with all
my heart, and I will not fail to love you well--while you let me
fare no worse!" _Confitebitur tibi, cum benefeceris ei._ Now, if
the wealthy man be very good, yet, in conformity of his will and
thanksgiving to God for his wealth, his virtue is not like to that
of him who doth the same in tribulation. For, as the philosophers
said very well of old, "virtue standeth in things of hardness and
difficulty." And then, as I told you, it is much less hard and less
difficult, by a great deal, to be content and conform our will to
God's will and to give him thanks, too, for our ease than for our
pain, for our wealth and for our woe. And therefore the conforming
of our will to God's and the thanks that we give him for our
tribulation are more worthy of thanks in return, and merit more
reward in the very fast wealth and felicity of heaven, than our
conformity and our thanksgiving for our worldly wealth here.

And this thing saw the devil, when he said to our Lord of Job that
it was no marvel if Job had a reverent fear unto God--God had done
so much for him, and kept him in prosperity. But the devil knew
well that it was a hard thing for Job to be so loving, and so to
give thanks to God, in tribulation and adversity. And therefore was
he glad to get leave of God to put him in tribulation, and trusted
thereby to cause him to murmur and grudge against God with
impatience. But the devil had there a fall in his own turn, for the
patience of Job in the short time of his adversity got him much
more favour and thanks of God, and more is he renowned and
commended in scripture for that, than for all the goodness of his
long prosperous life. Our Saviour saith himself, also, that if we
say well by them or yield them thanks who do us good, we do no
great thing, and therefore can we with reason look for no great
thanks in return.

And thus have I showed you, lo, no little pre-eminence that
tribulation hath in merit, and therefore no little pre-eminence of
comfort in hope of heavenly reward, above the virtues (the merit
and cause of good hope and comfort) that come of wealth and
prosperity.


XX

And therefore, good cousin, to finish our talking for this time,
lest I should be too long a hindrance to your other business:

If we lay first, for a sure ground, a very fast faith, whereby we
believe to be true all that the scripture saith (understood truly,
as the old holy doctors declare it and as the spirit of God
instructeth his Catholic church), then shall we consider
tribulation as a gracious gift of God, a gift that he specially
gave his special friends; a thing that in scripture is highly
commended and praised; a thing of which the contrary, long
continued, is perilous; a thing which, if God send it not, men have
need to put upon themselves and seek by penance; a thing that
helpeth to purge our past sins; a thing that preserveth us from
sins that otherwise would come; a thing that causeth us to set less
by the world; a thing that much diminisheth our pains in purgatory;
a thing that much increaseth our final reward in heaven; the thing
with which all his apostles followed him thither; the thing to
which our Saviour exhorteth all men; the thing without which he
saith we be not his disciples; the thing without which no man can
get to heaven.

Whosoever thinketh on these things, and remembereth them well,
shall in his tribulation neither murmur nor grudge. But first shall
he by patience take his pain in worth, and then shall he grow in
goodness and think himself well worthy of tribulation. And then
shall he consider that God sendeth it for his welfare, and thereby
shall be moved to give God thanks for it. Therewith shall his grace
increase, and God shall give him such comfort by considering that
God is in his trouble evermore near to him--for "God is near,"
saith the prophet, "to them that have their heart in trouble"--that
his joy thereof shall diminish much of his pain. And he shall not
seek for vain comfort elsewhere, but shall specially trust in God
and seek help of him, submitting his own will wholly to God's
pleasure. And he shall pray to God in his heart, and pray his
friends pray for him, and especially the priests, as St. James
biddeth. And he shall begin first with confession and make him
clean to God and ready to depart, and be glad to go to God, putting
purgatory to his pleasure. If we thus do, this dare I boldly say,
we shall never live here the less by half an hour, but we shall
with this comfort find our hearts lightened, and thereby the grief
of our tribulation lessened, and the more likelihood to recover and
to live the longer.

Now if God will that we shall go hence, then doth he much more for
us. For he who taketh this way cannot go but well. For of him who
is loth to leave this wretched world, mine heart is much in fear
lest he did not well. Hard it is for him to be welcome who cometh
against his will, who saith unto God when he cometh to fetch him,
"Welcome, my Maker--spite of my teeth!" But he that so loveth him
that he longeth to go to him, my heart cannot give me but he shall
be welcome, albeit that he come ere he be well purged. For "Charity
covereth a multitude of sins," and "He that trusteth in God cannot
be confounded." And Christ saith, "He that cometh to me, I will not
cast him out." And therefore let us never make our reckoning of
long life. Let us keep it while we can, because God hath so
commanded, but if God give the occasion that with his good will we
may go, let us be glad of it and long to go to him. And then shall
hope of heaven comfort our heaviness, and out of our transitory
tribulation shall we go to everlasting glory--to which, good
cousin, I pray God bring us both!

VINCENT:  Mine own good uncle, I pray God reward you, and at this
time I will no longer trouble you. I fear I have this day done you
much tribulation with my importunate objections, of very little
substance. And you have even showed me an example of patience, in
bearing my folly so long. And yet I shall be so bold as to seek
some time to talk further of the rest of this most profitable
matter of tribulation, which you said you reserved to treat of last
of all.

ANTHONY:  Let that be surely very shortly, cousin, while this is
fresh in mind.

VINCENT:  I trust, good uncle, so to put this in remembrance that
it shall never be forgotten with me. Our Lord send you such comfort
as he knoweth to be best!

ANTHONY:  This is well said, good cousin, and I pray the same for
you and for all our other friends who have need of comfort--for
whom, I think, more than for yourself, you needed some counsel.

VINCENT:  I shall, with this good counsel that I have heard from
you, do them some comfort, I trust in God--to whose keeping I
commit you!

ANTHONY:  And I you, also. Farewell, mine own good cousin.

______________________________


BOOK TWO

VINCENT:  It is no little comfort to me, good uncle, that as I came
in here I heard from your folk that since my last being here you
have had meetly good rest (God be thanked), and your stomach
somewhat more come to you. For verily, albeit I had heard before
that, in respect of the great pain that for a month's space had
held you, you were, a little before my last coming to you, somewhat
eased and relieved--for otherwise would I not for any good cause
have put you to the pain of talking so much as you then did--yet
after my departing from you, remembering how long we tarried
together, and that we were all that while talking, and that all the
labour was yours, in talking so long together without interpausing
between (and that of matter studious and displeasant, all of
disease and sickness and other pain and tribulation), I was in good
faith very sorry and not a little wroth with myself for mine own
oversight, that I had so little considered your pain. And very
feared I was, till I heard otherwise, lest you should have waxed
weaker and more sick thereafter. But now I thank our Lord, who hath
sent the contrary. For a little casting back, in this great age of
yours, would be no little danger and peril.

ANTHONY:  Nay, nay, good cousin--to talk much, unless some other
pain hinder me, is to me little grief. A foolish old man is often
as full of words as a woman. It is, you know, as some poets paint
us, all the joy of an old fool's life to sit well and warm with a
cup and a roasted crabapple, and drivel and drink and talk!

But in earnest, cousin, our talking was to me great comfort, and
nothing displeasing at all. For though we commoned of sorrow and
heaviness, yet the thing we chiefly thought upon was not the
tribulation itself but the comfort that may grow thereon. And
therefore am I now very glad that you are come to finish up the
rest.

VINCENT:  Of truth, my good uncle, it was comforting to me, and
hath been since to some other of your friends, to whom, as my poor
wit and remembrance would serve me, I did report and rehearse (and
not needlessly) your most comforting counsel. And now come I for
the rest, and am very joyful that I find you so well refreshed and
so ready thereto. But this one thing, good uncle, I beseech you
heartily. If I, for delight to hear you speak in the matter, forget
myself and you both, and put you to too much pain, remember your
own ease. And when you wish to leave off, command me to go my way
and seek some other time.

ANTHONY:  Forsooth, cousin, if a man were very weak, many words
spoken (as you said right now) without interpausing, would
peradventure at length somewhat weary him. And therefore wished I
the last time, after you were gone (when I felt myself, to say the
truth, even a little weary), that I had not so told you a long tale
alone, but that we had more often interchanged words, and parted
the talking between us, with more often interparling upon your
part, in such manner as learned men use between the persons whom
they devise, disputing in their feigned dialogues. But yet in that
point I soon excused you and laid the lack where I found it, and
that was even upon mine own neck.

For I remembered that between you and me it fared as it did once
between a nun and her brother. Very virtuous was this lady, and of
a very virtuous place and enclosed religion. And therein had she
been long, in all which time she had never seen her brother, who
was likewise very virtuous too, and had been far off at a
university, and had there taken the degree of Doctor of Divinity.
When he was come home, he went to see his sister, as one who highly
rejoiced in her virtue. So came she to the grate that they call, I
believe, the locutory, and after their holy watchword spoken on
both sides, after the manner used in that place, each took the
other by the tip of the finger, for no hand could be shaken through
the grate. And forthwith my lady began to give her brother a sermon
of the wretchedness of this world, and frailty of the flesh, and
the subtle sleights of the wicked fiend, and gave him surely good
counsel (saving somewhat too long) how he should be well wary in
his living and master well his body for the saving of his soul. And
yet, ere her own tale came to an end, she began to find a little
fault with him and said, "In good faith, brother, I do somewhat
marvel that you, who have been at learning so long and are a doctor
and so learned in the law of God, do not now at our meeting (since
we meet so seldom) to me who am your sister and a simple unlearned
soul, give of your charity some fruitful exhortation. For I doubt
not but you can say some good thing yourself." "By my troth, good
sister," quoth her brother, "I cannot, for you! For your tongue
hath never ceased, but said enough for us both."

And so, cousin, I remember that when I was once fallen in, I left
you little space to say aught between. But now will I therefore
take another way with you, for of our talking I shall drive you to
the one half.

VINCENT:  Now, forsooth, uncle, this was a merry tale! But now, if
you make me talk the one half, then shall you be contented far
otherwise than was of late a kinswoman of your own--but which one I
will not tell you; guess her if you can! Her husband had much
pleasure in the manner and behaviour of another honest man, and
kept him therefore much company, so that he was at his mealtime the
more often away from home. So happed it one time that his wife and
he together dined or supped with that neighbour of theirs, and then
she made a merry quarrel with him for making her husband so good
cheer outside that she could not keep him at home. "Forsooth,
mistress," quoth he (for he was a dry merry man), "in my company no
thing keepeth him but one. Serve him with the same, and he will
never be away from you." "What gay thing may that be?" quoth our
cousin then. "Forsooth, mistress," quoth he, "your husband loveth
well to talk, and when he sitteth with me, I let him have all the
words." "All the words?" quoth she, "marry, than am I content! He
shall have all the words with good will, as he hath ever had. But I
speak them all myself, and give them all to him, and for aught I
care for them, so shall he have them all. But otherwise to say that
he shall have them all, you shall keep him still rather than he get
the half!"

ANTHONY:  Forsooth, cousin, I can soon guess which of our kin she
was. I wish we had none, for all her merry words, who would let
their husbands talk less!

VINCENT:  Forsooth, she is not so merry but what she is equally
good. But where you find fault, uncle, that I speak not enough: I
was in good faith ashamed that I spoke so much and moved you such
questions as (I found upon your answer) might better have been
spared, they were of so little worth. But now, since I see you be
so well content that I shall not forbear boldly to show my folly, I
will be no more so shamefast but will ask you what I like.


I

And first, good uncle, ere we proceed further, I will be bold to
move you one thing more of that which we talked of when I was here
before. For when I revolved in my mind again the things that were
concluded here by you, methought you would in no wise wish that in
any tribulation men should seek for comfort in either worldly
things or fleshly. And this opinion of yours, uncle, seemeth
somewhat hard, for a merry tale with a friend refresheth a man
much, and without any harm delighteth his mind and amendeth his
courage and his stomach, so that it seemeth but well done to take
such recreation. And Solomon saith, I believe, that men should in
heaviness give the sorry man wine, to make him forget his sorrow.
And St. Thomas saith that proper pleasant talking, which is called
_eutrapelia,_ is a good virtue, serving to refresh the mind and
make it quick and eager to labour and study again, whereas
continual fatigue would make it dull and deadly.

ANTHONY:  Cousin, I forgot not that point, but I longed not much
to touch it. For neither might I well utterly forbear it, where it
might befall that it should not hurt; and on the other hand, if it
should so befall, methought that it should little need to give any
man counsel to it--folk are prone enough to such fancies of their
own mind! You may see this by ourselves who, coming now together
to talk of as earnest sad matter as men can devise, were fallen
yet even at the first into wanton idle tales. And of truth,
cousin, as you know very well, I myself am by nature even half a
gigglot and more. I wish I could as easily mend my fault as I well
know it, but scant can I refrain it, as old a fool as I am.
Howbeit, I will not be so partial to my fault as to praise it.

But since you ask my mind in the matter, as to whether men in
tribulation may not lawfully seek recreation and comfort
themselves with some honest mirth (first agreed that our chief
comfort must be in God and that with him we must begin and with
him continue and with him end also), that a man should take now
and then some honest worldly mirth, I dare not be so sore as
utterly to forbid it. For good men and well learned have in some
cases allowed it, especially for the diversity of divers men's
minds. Otherwise, if we were also such as would God we were (and
such as natural wisdom would that we should be, and is not clean
excusable that we be not indeed), I would then put no doubt but
that unto any man the most comforting talking that could be would
be to hear of heaven. Whereas now, God help us, our wretchedness
is such that in talking a while of it, men wax almost weary. And,
as though to hear of heaven were a heavy burden, they must refresh
themselves afterward with a foolish tale. Our affection toward
heavenly joys waxeth wonderfully cold. If dread of hell were as
far gone, very few would fear God, but that yet sticketh a little
in our stomachs. Mark me, cousin, at the sermon, and commonly
toward the end, somewhat the preacher speaketh of hell and heaven.
Now, while he preacheth of the pains of hell, still they stay and
give him the hearing. But as soon as he cometh to the joys of
heaven, they are busking them backward and flockmeal fall away.

It is in the soul somewhat as it is in the body: There are some
who are come, either by nature or by evil custom, to that point
where a worse thing sometimes more steadeth them than a better.
Some men, if they be sick, can away with no wholesome meat, nor no
medicine can go down with them, unless it be tempered for their
fancy with something that maketh the meat or the medicine less
wholesome than it should be. And yet, while it will be no better,
we must let them have it so.

Cassian (that very virtuous man) rehearseth in a certain
conference of his that a certain holy father, in making of a
sermon, spoke of heaven and heavenly things so celestially that
much of his audience, with the sweet sound of it, began to forget
all the world and fall asleep. When the father beheld this, he
dissembled their sleeping and suddenly said to them, "I shall tell
you a merry tale." At that word they lifted up their heads and
hearkened unto that, and afterward (their sleep being therewith
broken) heard him tell on of heaven again. In what wise that good
father rebuked then their untoward minds--so dull to the thing
that all our life we labour for, and so quick and eager toward
other trifles--I neither bear in mind nor shall here need to
rehearse. But thus much of that matter sufficeth for our purpose,
that whereas you demand of me whether in tribulation men may not
sometimes refresh themselves with worldly mirth and recreation, I
can only say that he who cannot long endure to hold up his head
and hear talking of heaven unless he be now and then between
refreshed (as though heaven were heaviness!) with a merry foolish
tale, there is none other remedy but you must let him have it.
Better would I wish it, but I cannot help it.

Howbeit, by mine advice, let us at least make those kinds of
recreation as short and as seldom as we can. Let them serve us but
for sauce, and make themselves not our meat. And let us pray unto
God--and all our good friends for us--that we may feel such a
savour in the delight of heaven that in respect of the talking of
its joys, all worldly recreation may be but a grief to think on.
And be sure, cousin, that if we might once purchase the grace to
come to that point, we never found of worldly recreation so much
comfort in a year as we should find in the bethinking us of heaven
for less than half an hour.

VINCENT:  In faith, uncle, I can well agree to this, and I pray
God bring us once to take such a savour in it. And surely, as you
began the other day, by faith must we come to it, and to faith by
prayer.

But now, I pray you, good uncle, vouchsafe to proceed in our
principal matter.


II

ANTHONY:  Cousin, I have bethought me somewhat upon this matter
since we were last together. And I find it a thing that, if we
should go some way to work, would require many more days to treat
of than we should haply find for it in so few as I myself believe
that I have yet to live. For every time is not alike with me.
Among them, there are many painful, in which I look every day to
depart; my mending days come very seldom and are very shortly done.

For surely, cousin, I cannot liken my life more fitly now than to
the snuff of a candle that burneth within the candlestick's nose.
For the snuff sometimes burneth down so low that whosoever looketh
on it would think it were quite out, and yet suddenly lifteth up a
flame half an inch above the nose and giveth a pretty short light
again, and thus playeth divers times till at last, ere it be
looked for, out it goeth altogether. So have I, cousin, divers
such days together as every day of them I look even to die, and
yet have I then after that some such few days again as you
yourself see me now to have, in which a man would think that I
might yet well continue. But I know my lingering not likely to
last long, but out will go my snuff suddenly some day within a
while. And therefore will I, with God's help, seem I never so well
amended, nevertheless reckon every day for my last. For though, to
the repressing of the bold courage of blind youth, there is a very
true proverb that "as soon cometh a young sheep's skin to the
market as an old," yet this difference there is at least between
them: that as the young man may hap sometimes to die soon, so the
old man can never live long.

And therefore, cousin, in our matter here, leaving out many things
that I would otherwise treat of, I shall for this time speak but
of very few. Howbeit, if God hereafter send me more such days,
then will we, when you wish, further talk of more.


III

All manner of tribulation, cousin, that any man can have, as far
as for this time cometh to my mind, falleth under some one at
least of these three kinds: Either it is such as he himself
willingly taketh; or, secondly, such as he willingly suffereth;
or, finally, such as he cannot put from him.

This third kind I purpose not to speak of now much more, for there
shall suffice, for the time, those things that we treated between
us the other day. What kind of tribulation this is, I am sure you
yourself perceive. For sickness, imprisonment, loss of goods, loss
of friends, or such bodily harm as a man hath already caught and
can in no wise avoid--these things and such like are the third
kind of tribulation that I speak of, which a man neither willingly
taketh in the beginning, nor can (though he would) afterward put
away.

Now think I that, just as no comfort can serve to the man who
lacketh wit and faith, whatsoever counsel be given, so to those
who have both I have, as for this kind, said in manner enough
already. And considering that suffer it he must, since he can by
no manner of means put it from him, the very necessity is half
counsel enough to take it in good worth and bear it patiently, and
rather of his patience to take both ease and thanks than by
fretting and fuming to increase his present pain, and afterward by
murmur and grudge to fall in further danger of displeasing God
with his froward behaviour.

And yet, albeit that I think that what has been said sufficeth,
yet here and there I shall in the second kind show some such
comfort as shall well serve unto this last kind too.


IV

The first kind also will I shortly pass over, too. For the
tribulation that a man willingly taketh himself, which no man
putteth upon him against his own will, is, you know as well as I
(for it was somewhat touched the last day), such affliction of the
flesh or expense of his goods as a man taketh himself or willingly
bestoweth in punishment of his own sin and for devotion to God.

Now, in this tribulation needeth he no man to comfort him. For no
man troubleth him but himself, who feeleth how far forth he may
conveniently bear, and of reason and good discretion shall not
pass that--and if any doubt arise therein, it is counsel that he
needeth and not comfort. And so the courage that kindleth his
heart and enflameth it for God's sake and his soul's health shall,
by the same grace that put it in his mind, give him such comfort
and joy therein that the pleasure of his soul shall surpass the
pain of his body.

Yea, and while he hath in heart also some great heaviness for his
sin, yet when he considereth the joy that shall come of it, his
soul shall not fail to feel then that strange state which my body
felt once in a great fever.

VINCENT:  What strange state was that, uncle?

ANTHONY:  Forsooth, cousin, even in this same bed, it is now more
than fifteen years ago, I lay in a tertian fever. And I had
passed, I believe, three or four fits, when afterward there fell
on me one fit out of course, so strange and so marvellous that I
would in good faith have thought it impossible. For I suddenly
felt myself verily both hot and cold throughout all my body; not
in one part the one and in another part the other--for it would
have been, you know, no very strange thing to feel the head hot
while the hands were cold--but the selfsame parts, I say, so God
save my soul, I sensibly felt (and right painfully, too) all in
one instant both hot and cold at once.

VINCENT:  By my faith, uncle, this was a wonderful thing, and such
as I never heard happen to any other man in my days. And few men
are there out of whose mouths I could have believed it.

ANTHONY:  Courtesy, cousin, peradventure hindereth you from saying
that you believe it not yet of my mouth, neither! And surely, for
fear of that, you should not have heard it of me neither, had
there not another thing happed me soon thereafter.

VINCENT:  I pray you, what was that, good uncle?

ANTHONY:  Forsooth, cousin, this: I asked a physician or twain,
who then considered how this should be possible, and they both
twain told me that it could not be so, but that I was fallen into
some slumber and dreamed that I felt it so.

VINCENT:  This hap, hold I, little caused you to tell that tale
more boldly!

ANTHONY:  No, cousin, that is true, lo. But then happed there
another: A young girl here in this town, whom a kinsman of hers
had begun to teach physic, told me that there was such a kind of
fever indeed.

VINCENT:  By our Lady, uncle, save for the credence of you, the
tale would I not yet tell again upon that hap of the maid! For
though I know her now for such that I durst well believe her, it
might hap her very well at that time to lie, because she would
that you should take her for learned.

ANTHONY:  Yea, but then happed there yet another hap thereon,
cousin, that a work of Galen, _"De differentiis febrium,"_ is
ready to be sold in the booksellers' shops, in which work she
showed me then the chapter where Galen saith the same.

VINCENT:  Marry, uncle, as you say, that hap happed well. And that
maid had, as hap was, in that one point more learning than had both
your physicians besides--and hath, I believe, at this day in many
points more.

ANTHONY:  In faith, so believe I too. She is very wise and well
learned, and very virtuous too.

But see now what age is: lo, I have been so long in my tale that I
have almost forgotten for what purpose I told it. Oh, now I
remember me: As I say, just as I myself felt my body then both hot
and cold at once, so he who is contrite and heavy for his sin
shall have cause to be both glad and sad, and shall indeed be both
twain at once. And he shall do as I remember holy St. Jerome
biddeth--"Both be thou sorry," saith he, "and be thou also of thy
sorrow joyful."

And thus, as I began to say, to him that is in this
tribulation--that is, in fruitful heaviness and penance for his
sin--shall we need to give none other comfort than only to
remember and consider well the goodness of God's excellent mercy,
that infinitely surpasseth the malice of all men's sins. By that
mercy he is ready to receive every man, and did spread his arms
abroad upon the cross, lovingly to embrace all those who will
come. And by that mercy he even there accepted the thief at his
last end, who turned not to God till he might steal no longer, and
yet maketh more feast in heaven for one who turneth from sin than
for ninety-nine good men who sinned not at all.

And therefore of that first kind of tribulation will I make no
longer tale.


V

VINCENT:  Forsooth, uncle, this is very great comfort unto that
kind of tribulation. And so great, also, that it may make many a
man bold to abide in his sin even unto his end, trusting to be
then saved as that thief was.

ANTHONY:  Very sooth you say, cousin, that some wretches are there
who so abuse the great goodness of God that the better he is the
worse in return are they. But, cousin, though there be more joy
made of his turning who from the point of perdition cometh to
salvation, for pity that God had and all his saints of the peril
of perishing that the man stood in, yet is he not set in like
state in heaven as he should have been if he had lived better
before. Unless it so befall that he live so well afterward and do
so much good that he outrun, in the shorter time, those good folk
that yet did so much in much longer. This is proved in the blessed
apostle St. Paul, who of a persecutor became an apostle, and last
of all came in unto that office, and yet in the labour of sowing
the seed of Christ's faith outran all the rest so far that he
forbore not to say of himself, "I have laboured more than all the
rest have."

But yet, my cousin, though I doubt not that God be so merciful
unto those who, at any time of their life, turn and ask his mercy
and trust in it, though it be at the last end of a man's life; and
that he hireth him as well for heaven who cometh to work in his
vineyard toward night at such time as workmen leave work, and
goeth home, being then willing to work if time should serve, as he
hireth him who cometh in the morning; yet may no man upon the
trust of this parable be bold all his life to lie still in sin.
For let him remember that no man goeth into God's vineyard but he
who is called thither. Now he who, in hope to be called toward the
night, will sleep out the morning and drink out the day, is full
likely to pass at night unspoken to. And then shall he with ill
rest go supperless to bed!

They tell of one who was wont always to say that all the while he
lived he would do what he pleased, for three words when he died
should make all safe enough. But then it so happed that long ere
he was old his horse once stumbled upon a broken bridge. And as he
laboured to recover him, when he saw that it would not be, but
that down into the flood headlong he must go, in sudden dismay he
cried out in the falling, "Have all to the devil!" And there was
he drowned with his three words ere he died, whereon his hope hung
all his wretched life.

And therefore let no man sin in hope of grace, for grace cometh
but at God's will, and that state of mind may be the hindrance
that grace of fruitful repenting shall never after be offered him,
but that he shall either graceless go linger on careless, or with
a care that is fruitless shall fall into despair.


VI

VINCENT:  Forsooth, uncle, in this point methinketh you say very
well. But then are there some again who say on the other hand that
we shall need no heaviness for our sins at all, but need only
change our intent and purpose to do better, and for all that is
passed take no thought at all. And as for fasting and other
affliction of the body, they say we should not do it save only to
tame the flesh when we feel it wax wanton and begin to rebel. For
fasting, they say, serveth to keep the body in temperance, but to
fast for penance or to do any other good work, almsdeed or other,
toward satisfaction for our own sins--this thing they call plain
injury to the passion of Christ, by which alone our sins are
forgiven freely without any recompense of our own. And they say
that those who would do penance for their own sins look to be
their own Christs, and pay their own ransoms, and save their souls
themselves. And with these reasons in Saxony many cast fasting
off, and all other bodily affliction, save only where need
requireth to bring the body to temperance. For no other good, they
say, can it do to ourselves, and then to our neighbour can it do
none at all. And therefore they condemn it for superstitious
folly. Now, heaviness of heart and weeping for our sins, this
they reckon shame almost, and womanish childishness--howbeit, God
be thanked, their women wax there now so mannish that they are not
so childish, nor so poor of spirit, but what they can sin on as
men do and be neither afraid nor ashamed nor weep for their sins at
all.

And surely, mine uncle, I have marvelled the less ever since I
heard the manner of their preachers there. For, as you remember,
when I was in Saxony these matters were (in a manner) but in a
mammering. Luther was not then wedded yet, nor religious men out
of their habits, but those that would be of the sect were suffered
freely to preach what they would unto the people. And forsooth I
heard a religious man there myself--one that had been reputed and
taken for very good, and who, as far as the folk perceived, was of
his own living somewhat austere and sharp. But his preaching was
wonderful! Methinketh I hear him yet, his voice so loud and
shrill, his learning less than mean. But whereas his matter was
much part against fasting and all affliction for any penance,
which he called men's inventions, he ever cried out upon them to
keep well the laws of Christ, let go their childish penance, and
purpose then to mend and seek nothing to salvation but the death
of Christ. "For he is our justice, and he is our Saviour and our
whole satisfaction for all our deadly sins. He did full penance
for us all upon his painful cross, he washed us there all clean
with the water of his sweet side, and brought us out of the
devil's danger with his dear precious blood. Leave therefore,
leave, I beseech you, these inventions of men, your foolish Lenten
fasts and your childish penance! Diminish never Christ's thanks
nor look to save yourselves! It is Christ's death, I tell you,
that must save us all--Christ's death, I tell you yet again, and
not our own deeds. Leave your own fasting, therefore, and lean to
Christ alone, good Christian people, for Christ's dear bitter
passion!" Now, so loud and shrill he cried "Christ" in their ears,
and so thick he came forth with Christ's bitter passion, and that
so bitterly spoken with the sweat dropping down his cheeks, that I
marvelled not that I saw the poor women weep. For he made my own
hair stand up upon my head.

And with such preaching were the people so taken in that some fell
to break their fast on the fasting days, not of frailty or of
malice first, but almost of devotion, lest they should take from
Christ the thanks of his bitter passion. But when they were awhile
nursled in that point first, they could afterward abide and endure
many things more, for which, if he had begun with them, they would
have pulled him down.

ANTHONY:  Cousin, God amend that man, whatsoever he be, and God
keep all good folk from such manner of preachers! One such
preacher much more abuseth the name of Christ and of his bitter
passion than do five hundred gamblers who in their idle business
swear and foreswear themselves by his holy bitter passion at dice.
They carry the minds of the people from perceiving their craft by
the continual naming of the name of Christ, and crying his passion
so shrill into their ears that they forget that the Church hath
ever taught them that all our penance without Christ's passion
would not be worth a pea. And they make the people think that we
wish to be saved by our own deeds, without Christ's death; whereas
we confess that his passion alone meriteth incomparably more for
us than all our own deeds do, but that it is his pleasure that we
shall also take pain ourselves with him. And therefore he biddeth
all who will be his disciples to take their crosses on their backs
as he did, and with their crosses follow him.

And where they say that fasting serveth but for temperance to tame
the flesh and keep it from wantonness, I would in good faith have
thought that Moses had not been so wild that for the taming of his
flesh he should have need to fast whole forty days together. No,
not Hely neither. Nor yet our Saviour himself, who began the
Lenten forty-days fast--and the apostles followed, and all
Christendom hath kept it--that these folk call now so foolish.
King Achab was not disposed to be wanton in his flesh, when he
fasted and went clothed in sackcloth and all besprent with ashes.
No more was the king in Nineveh and all the city, but they wailed
and did painful penance for their sin to procure God to pity them
and withdraw his indignation. Anna, who in her widowhood abode so
many years with fasting and praying in the temple till the birth
of Christ, was not, I suppose, in her old age so sore disposed to
the wantonness of the flesh that she fasted for all that. Nor St.
Paul, who fasted so much, fasted not all for that, neither. The
scripture is full of places that prove fasting to be not the
invention of man but the institution of God, and to have many more
profits than one. And that the fasting of one man may do good unto
another, our Saviour showeth himself where he saith that some kind
of devils cannot be cast out of one man by another "without prayer
and fasting." And therefore I marvel that they take this way
against fasting and other bodily penance.

And yet much more I marvel that they mislike the sorrow and
heaviness and displeasure of mind that a man should take in
thinking of his sin. The prophet saith, "Tear your hearts and not
your clothes." And the prophet David saith, "A contrite heart and
an humbled"--that is to say, a heart broken, torn, and laid low
under foot with tribulation of heaviness for his sins--"shalt thou
not, good Lord, despise." He saith also of his own contrition, "I
have laboured in my wailing; I shall every night wash my bed with
my tears, my couch will I water."

But why should I need in this matter to lay forth one place or
twain? The scripture is full of those places, by which it plainly
appeareth that God looketh of duty, not only that we should amend
and be better in the time to come, but also that we should be
sorry and weep and bewail our sins committed before. And all the
old holy doctors be full and whole of that opinion, that men must
have for their sins contrition and sorrow in heart.


VII

VINCENT:  Forsooth, uncle, this thing yet seemeth to me a somewhat
sore sentence, not because I think otherwise but that there is
good cause and great wherefore a man should so sorrow, but because
of truth sometimes a man cannot be sorry and heavy for his sin
that he hath done, though he never so fain would. But though he
can be content for God's sake to forbear it thenceforth, yet not
only can he not weep for every sin that is past, but some were
haply so wanton that when he happeth to remember them he can
scantly forbear to laugh.

Now, if contrition and sorrow of heart be so requisite of
necessity to remission, many a man should stand, it seemeth, in a
very perilous state.

ANTHONY:  Many so should indeed, cousin, and indeed many do so.
And the old saints write very sore on this point. Howbeit, "the
mercy of God is above all his works," and he standeth bound to no
common rule. "And he knoweth the frailty of this earthen vessel
that is of his own making, and is merciful and hath pity and
compassion upon our feeble infirmities," and shall not exact of us
above the thing that we can do.

And yet, cousin, he who findeth himself in that state, let him
give God thanks that he is no worse, in that he is minded to do
well hereafter. But in that he cannot be sorry for his sin passed,
let him be sorry at least that he is no better. And as St. Jerome
biddeth him who sorroweth in his heart for sin to be glad and
rejoice in his sorrow, so would I counsel him who cannot be sad
for his sin to be sorry at least that he cannot be sorry!

Besides this, though I would in no wise that any man should
despair, yet would I counsel such a man while that affection
lasteth not to be bold of courage, but to live in double fear:
First, because it is a token either of faint faith or of a dull
diligence. For surely if we believe in God, and therewith deeply
consider his high majesty, with the peril of our sin and the great
goodness of God also, then either dread should make us tremble and
break our stony heart, or love should for sorrow relent it into
tears. Besides this, because, since so little misliking of our old
sin is an affection not very pure and clean, and since no unclean
thing shall enter into heaven, I can scantly believe but it shall
be cleansed and purified before we come there. And therefore would
I further give one in that state the counsel which Master Gerson
giveth every man: that since the body and the soul together make
the whole man, the less affliction he feeleth in his soul, the
more pain in recompense let him put upon his body, and purge the
spirit by the affliction of the flesh. And he who so doth, I dare
lay my life, shall have his hard heart afterward relent into
tears, and his soul in a wholesome heaviness and heavenly gladness
too--especially if he join therewith faithful prayer, which must
be joined with every good thing.

But, cousin, as I told you the other day, in these matters with
these new men I will not dispute, but surely for mine own part I
cannot well hold with them. For as far as mine own poor wit can
perceive, the holy scripture of God is very plain against them,
and the whole corps of Christendom in every Christan region. And
the very places in which they dwell themselves have ever unto
their own days clearly believed against them and all the old holy
doctors have evermore taught against them, and all the old holy
interpreters have construed against them. And therefore if these
men have now perceived so late that the scripture hath been
misunderstood all this while, and that of all those old holy
doctors no man could understand it, then am I too old at this age
to begin to study it now! And I dare not in no wise trust these
men's learning, cousin, since I cannot see nor perceive any cause
wherefore I should think that these men might not now in the
understanding of scripture as well be deceived themselves as they
would have us believe all those others have been, all this while
before.

Howbeit, cousin, if it so be that their way be not wrong, but that
they have found out so easy a way to heaven as to take no thought,
but make merry, nor take no penance at all, but sit them down and
drink well for our Saviour's sake--set cockahoop and fill all the
cups at once, and then let Christ's passion pay for all the
scot--I am not he who will envy their good hap. But surely,
counsel dare I give no man to adventure that way with them. But
those who fear lest that way be not sure, and take upon themselves
willingly tribulation of penance--what comfort they do take, and
well may take therein, that have I somewhat told you already. And
since these other folk sit so merry with such tribulation, we need
talk to them, you know, of no such manner of comfort.

And therefore of this kind of tribulation will I make an end.


VIII

VINCENT:  Verily, good uncle, so may you well do, for you have
brought it unto a very good pass.

And now, I pray you, come to the other kind, of which you purposed
always to treat last.

ANTHONY:  That shall I, cousin, very gladly do. The other kind is
the one which I rehearsed second, and (sorting out the other two)
have kept for the last. This second kind of tribulation is, you
know, of those who willingly suffer tribulation, though of their
own choice they took it not at first.

This kind, cousin, we shall divide into twain; the first we might
call temptation, the second persecution. But here must you
consider that I mean not every kind of persecution, but only that
kind which, though the sufferer would be loth to fall in, yet will
he rather abide it and suffer than, by flying from it, fall into
the displeasure of God or leave God's pleasure unprocured.
Howbeit, if we well consider these two things, temptation and
persecution, we may find that either of them is incident into the
other. For both by temptation the devil persecuteth us, and by
persecution the devil also tempteth us. And as persecution is
tribulation to every man, so is temptation tribulation to a good
man. Now, though the devil, our spiritual enemy, fight against man
in both, yet this difference hath the common temptation from the
persecution: Temptation is, as it were, the fiend's snare, and
persecution his plain open fight. And therefore will I now call
all this kind of tribulation here by the name of temptation, and
that shall I divide into two parts. The first shall I call the
devil's snares, the other his open fight.


IX

To speak of every kind of temptation particularly, by itself,
would be, you know, in a manner an infinite thing. For under that,
as I told you, fall persecutions and all. And the devil hath a
thousand subtle ways of his snares, and of his open fight as many
sundry poisoned darts. He tempteth us by the world, he tempteth us
by our own flesh; he tempteth us by pleasure, he tempteth us by
pain; he tempteth us by our foes, he tempteth us by our own
friends--and, under colour of kindred, he maketh many times our
nearest friends our most foes. For, as our Saviour said, _"Inimici
hominis domestici eius."_

But in all manner of so diverse temptations, one marvellous
comfort is that, the more we be tempted, the gladder have we cause
to be. For, as St. James saith, "Esteem and take it, my brethren,
for a thing of all joy when you fall into diverse and sundry
manner of temptations." And no marvel, for there is in this world
set up (as it were) a game of wrestling, in which the people of
God come in on the one side, and on the other side come mighty
strong wrestlers and wily--that is, the devils, the cursed proud
damned spirits. For it is not our flesh alone that we must wrestle
with, but with the devil too. "Our wrestling is not here," saith
St. Paul, "against flesh and blood, but against the princes and
potentates of these dark regions, against the spiritual wicked
ghosts of the air."

But as God hath prepared a crown for those who on his side give
his adversary the fall, so he who will not wrestle shall have
none. For, as St. Paul saith, "There shall no man have the crown
but he who contendeth for it according to the law of the game."
And then, as holy St. Bernard saith, how couldst thou fight or
wrestle for it, if there were no challenger against thee who would
provoke thee thereto? And therefore may it be a great comfort, as
St. James saith, to every man who feeleth himself challenged and
provoked by temptation. For thereby perceiveth he that it cometh
to his course to wrestle, which shall be, unless he willingly play
the coward or the fool, the matter of his eternal reward.


X

But now must this needs be to man an inestimable comfort in all
temptation if his faith fail him not: that is, that he may be sure
that God is always ready to give him strength against the devil's
might and wisdom against the devil's snares.

For, as the prophet saith, "My strength and my praise is our Lord,
he hath been my safeguard." And the scripture saith, "Ask wisdom
of God and he shall give it thee," in order "that you may espy,"
as St. Paul saith, "and perceive all the crafts." A great comfort
may this be in all kinds of temptation, that God hath so his hand
upon him who is willing to stand and will trust in him and call
upon him, that he hath made him sure by many faithful promises in
holy scripture that either he shall not fall or, if he sometimes
through faintness of faith stagger and hap to fall, yet if he call
upon God betimes his fall shall be no sore bruising to him. But as
the scripture saith, "The just man, though he fall, shall not be
bruised, for our Lord holdeth under his hand."

The prophet expresseth a plain comfortable promise of God against
all temptations where he saith, "Whoso dwelleth in the help of the
highest God, he shall abide in the protection or defence of the
God of heaven." Who dwelleth, now, good cousin, in the help of the
high God? Surely, he who through a good faith abideth in the trust
and confidence of God's help, and neither, for lack of that faith
and trust in his help, falleth desperate of all help, nor
departeth from the hope of his help to seek himself help (as I
told you the other day) from the flesh, the world, or the devil.

Now he then who by fast faith and sure hope dwelleth in God's
help, and hangeth always upon that hope, never falling from it, he
shall, saith the prophet, ever dwell and abide in God's defence
and protection. That is to say, while he faileth not to believe
well and hope well, God will never fail in all temptation to
defend him. For unto such a faithful well-hoping man the prophet
in the same psalm saith further, "With his shoulders shall he
shadow thee, and under his feathers shalt thou trust." Lo, here
hath every faithful man a sure promise that in the fervent heat of
temptation or tribulation--for, as I have said divers times
before, each is in such wise incident to the other that the devil
useth every tribulation for temptation to bring us to impatience,
and thereby to murmur and grudge and blasphemy; and every kind of
temptation, to a good man who fighteth against it and will not
follow it, is a very painful tribulation. In the fervent heat, I
say therefore, of every temptation, God giveth the faithful man
who hopeth in him the shadow of his holy shoulders. His shoulders
are broad and large enough to cool and refresh the man in that
heat, and in every tribulation he putteth them for a defence
between. And then what weapon of the devil may give us any deadly
wound, while that impenetrable shield of the shoulder of God
standeth always between?

Then goeth the verse further, and saith unto such a faithful man,
"Thine hope shall be under his feathers." That is, for the good
hope thou hast in his help, he will take thee so near him into his
protection that, as the hen, to keep her young chickens from the
kite, nestled them together under her wings, so from the devil's
claws--the ravenous kite of this dark air--will the God of heaven
gather the faithful trusting folk near unto his own sides, and set
them in surety, very well and warm, under the covering of his
heavenly wings. And of this defence and protection, our
Saviour spoke himself unto the Jews, as mention is made in the
twenty-third chapter of St. Matthew, to whom he said in this wise:
"Jerusalem, Jerusalem, that killest the prophets and stonest unto
death them that are sent to thee, how often would I have gathered
thee together, as the hen gathereth her chickens under her wings,
and thou wouldst not."

Here are, cousin Vincent, words of no little comfort unto every
Christian man. For by them we may see with what tender affection
God of his great goodness longeth to gather us under the
protection of his wings, and how often like a loving hen he
clucketh home unto him even those chickens of his that wilfully
walk abroad into the kite's danger and will not come at his
clucking, but ever, the more he clucketh for them, the farther
they go from him. And therefore can we not doubt that, if we will
follow him and with faithful hope come running to him, he shall in
all matter of temptation take us near unto him and set us even
under his wing. And then are we safe, if we will tarry there, for
against our will no power can pull us thence, nor hurt our souls
there. "Set me near unto thee," saith the prophet, "and fight
against me whose hand that will." And to show the great safeguard
and surety that we shall have while we sit under his heavenly
feathers, the prophet saith yet a great deal further, _"In
velamento alarum tuarum exaltabo."_ That is, that we shall not
only sit in safeguard when we sit by his sweet side under his holy
wing, but we shall also under the covering of his heavenly wings
with great exultation rejoice.


XI

Now, in the two next verses following, the prophet briefly
comprehendeth four kinds of temptations, and therein all the
tribulation that we shall now speak of, and also some part of that
which we have spoken of before. And therefore I shall peradventure
(unless any further thing fall in our way) with treating of those
two verses, finish and end all our matter.

The prophet saith in the ninetieth psalm, "_Scuto circumdabit te
veritas eius; non timebis a timore nocturno, a sagitta volante in
die, a negotio perambulante in tenebris, ab incurso et demonio
meridiano._ The truth of God shall compass thee about with a
shield, you shall not be afraid of the night's fear, nor of the
arrow flying in the day, nor of business walking about in the
darknesses, nor of the incursion or invasion of the devil in the
midday."

First, cousin, in these words "the truth of God shall compass thee
about with a shield," the prophet for the comfort of every good
man in all temptation and in all tribulation, besides those other
things that he said before--that the shoulders of God should
shadow them and that also they should sit under his wing--here
saith he further that the truth of God shall compass thee with a
shield. That is, as God hath faithfully promised to protect and
defend those that faithfully will dwell in the trust of his help,
so will he truly perform it. And thou who art such a one, the
truth of his promise will defend thee not with a little round
buckler that scantly can cover the head, but with a long large
shield that covereth all along the body. This shield is made (as
holy St. Bernard saith) broad above with the Godhead and narrow
beneath with the Manhood, so that it is our Saviour Christ himself.
And yet is this shield not like other shields of the world, which
are so made that while they defend one part the man may be wounded
upon another. But this shield is such that, as the prophet saith,
it shall round about enclose and compass thee, so that thine enemy
shall hurt thy soul on no side. For "with a shield," saith he,
"shall his truth environ and compass thee round about."

And then incontinently following, to the intent that we should see
that it is not without necessity that the shield of God should
compass us about upon every side, he showeth in what wise we are
environed by the devil upon every side with snares and assaults,
by four kinds of temptations and tribulations. Against all this
compass of temptations and tribulations that round-compassing
shield of God's truth shall so defend us and keep us safe that we
shall need to dread none of them at all.


XII

First, he saith, "thou shalt not be afraid of the fear of the
night." By the night is there in scripture sometimes understood
tribulation, as appeareth in the thirty-fourth chapter of Job: "God
hath known the works of them, and therefore shall he bring night
upon them," that is, tribulation for their wickedness. And well you
know that the night is of its own nature discomfortable and full of
fear. And therefore by the night's fear here I understand the
tribulation by which the devil, through the sufference of God,
either by himself or by others who are his instruments, tempteth
good folk to impatience as he did Job. But he who, as the prophet
saith, dwelleth and continueth faithfully in the hope of God's
help, shall so be clipped in on every side with the shield of God
that he shall have no need to be afraid of such tribulation as is
here called the night's fear. And it may be also fittingly called
the night's fear for two causes: One, because many times, unto him
who suffereth, the cause of his tribulation is dark and unknown.
And therein it varieth and differeth from that tribulation by which
the devil tempteth a man with open fight and assault for a known
good thing from which he would withdraw him, or for some known evil
thing into which he would drive him by force of such persecution.
Another cause for which it is called the night's fear may be
because the night is so far out of courage, and naturally so
casteth folk into fear, that their fancy doubleth their fear of
everything of which they perceive any manner of dread, and maketh
them often think that it were much worse than indeed it is.

The prophet saith in the psalter, "Thou hast, good Lord, set the
darkness and made was the night, and in the night walk all the
beasts of the woods, the whelps of the lions roaring and calling
unto God for their meat." Now, though the lions' whelps walk about
roaring in the night and seek for their prey, yet can they not get
such meat as they would always, but must hold themselves content
with such as God suffereth to fall in their way. And though they
be not aware of it, yet of God they ask it and of him they have
it. And this may be comfort to all good men in their night's fear,
that though they fall in their dark tribulation into the claws of
the devil or the teeth of those lions' whelps, yet all that they
can do shall not pass beyond the body, which is but as the garment
of the soul. For the soul itself, which is the substance of the
man, is so surely fenced in round about with the shield of God,
that as long as he will abide faithfully in the hope of God's help
the lions' whelp shall not be able to hurt it. For the great Lion
himself could never be suffered to go further in the tribulation
of Job than God from time to time gave him leave.

And therefore the deep darkness of the midnight maketh men who
stand out of faith and out of good hope in God to be in far the
greater fear in their tribulation, for lack of the light of faith,
by which they might perceive that the uttermost of their peril is
a far less thing than they take it for. But we are so wont to set
so much by our body, which we see and feel, and in the feeding and
fostering of which we set out delight and our wealth; and so
little (alas) and so seldom we think upon our soul, because we
cannot see that but by spiritual understanding, and most
especially by the eye of our faith (in the meditation of which we
bestow, God knows, little time), that the loss of our body we take
for a sorer thing and for a great deal greater tribulation than we
do the loss of our soul. Our Saviour biddeth us not fear those
lions' whelps that can but kill our bodies and when that is done
have no further thing in their power with which they can do us
harm, but he biddeth us stand in dread of him who when he hath
slain the body is able then beside to cast the soul into
everlasting fire. Yet are we so blind in the dark night of
tribulation, for lack of full and fast belief of God's word, that,
whereas in the day of prosperity we very little fear God for our
soul, our night's fear of adversity maketh us very sore to fear
the lion and his whelps for dread of loss of our bodies. And
whereas St. Paul in sundry places telleth us that our body is but
the garment of the soul, yet the faintness of our faith in the
scripture of God maketh us, with the night's fear of tribulation,
not only to dread the loss of our body more than that of our
soul--that is, of the clothing more than of the substance that is
clothed therewith--but also of the very outward goods that serve
for the clothing of the body. And much more foolish are we in that
dark night's fear than would be a man who would forget the saving
of his body for fear of losing his old rain-beaten cloak, that is
but the covering of his gown or his coat. Now, consider further
yet, that the prophet in the afore-remembered verses saith that in
the night there walk not only the lions' whelps but also "all the
beasts of the wood." Now, you know that if a man walk through the
wood in the night, many things can make him afraid of which in the
day he would not be afraid a whit. For in the night every bush, to
him that waxeth once afraid, seemeth a thief.

I remember that when I was a young man, I was once in the war with
the king then my master (God absolve his soul) and we were camped
within the Turk's ground many a mile beyond Belgrade--would God it
were ours now as it was then! But so happed it that in our camp
about midnight there suddenly rose a rumour and a cry that the
Turk's whole army was secretly stealing upon us. Therewith our
whole host was warned to arm them in haste and set themselves in
array to fight. And then were runners of ours, who had brought
those sudden tidings, examined more leisurely by the council, as
to what surety or what likelihood they had perceived. And one of
them said that by the glimmering of the moon he had espied and
perceived and seen them himself, coming on softly and soberly in a
long range, all in good order, not one farther forth than the
other in the forefront, but as even as a third, and in breadth
farther than he could see the length. His fellows, being examined,
said that he had somewhat pricked forth before them, and came back
so fast to tell it to them that they thought it rather time to
make haste and giving warning to the camp than to go nearer unto
them. For they were not so far off but what they had yet
themselves somewhat an imperfect sight of them, too. Thus stood we
on watch all the rest of the night, evermore hearkening when we
should hear them come, but "Hush, stand still! Methink I hear a
trampling," so that at last many of us thought we heard them
ourselves too. But when the day was sprung, and we saw no one, out
was our runner sent again, and some of our captains with him, to
show whereabout was the place in which he had perceived them. And
when they came thither, they found that the great fearful army of
the Turks, so soberly coming on, turned (God be thanked) into a
fair long hedge standing even stone-still.

And thus fareth it in the night's fear of tribulation, in which
the devil, to bear down and overwhelm with dread the faithful hope
that we should have in God, casteth in our imagination much more
fear than cause. For since there walk in that night not only the
lion's whelps but all the beasts of the wood beside, the beast
that we hear roar in the dark night of tribulation, and fear for a
lion, we sometimes find well afterward in the way that it was no
lion at all, but a silly rude roaring ass. And sometimes the thing
that on the sea seemeth a rock is indeed nothing else but a mist.
Howbeit, as the prophet saith, he that faithfully dwelleth in the
hope of God's help, the shield of his truth shall so fence him
round about that, be it an ass or a colt or a lion's whelp, or a
rock of stone or a mist, the night's fear thereof shall be nothing
to dread.


XIII

Therefore find I that in the night's fear one great part is the
fault of pusillanimity; that is, of faint and feeble stomach, by
which a man for faint heart is afraid where he needeth not. By
reason of this, he flieth oftentime for fear of something of
which, if he fled not, he should take no harm. And a man doth
sometimes by his fleeing make an enemy bold on him, who would, if
he fled not but dared abide, give over and fly from him.

This fault of pusillanimity maketh a man in his tribulation first,
for feeble heart, impatient. And afterward oftentimes it driveth
him by impatience into a contrary affection, making him frowardly
stubborn and angry against God, and thereby to fall into
blasphemy, as do the damned souls in hell. This fault of
pusillanimity and timorous mind hindereth a man also many times
from doing many good things which, if he took a good stomach to
him in the trust of God's help, he would be well able to do. But
the devil casteth him in a cowardice and maketh him take it for
humility to think himself unfit and unable to do them. And
therefore he leaveth undone the good thing of which God offereth
him occasion and to which he had made him fit.

But such folk have need to lift up their hearts and call upon God,
and by the counsel of other good spiritual folk to cast away the
cowardice of their own conceiving which the night's fear by the
devil hath framed in their fancy. And they have need to look in
the gospel upon him who laid up his talent and left it unoccupied
and therefore utterly lost it, with a great reproach of his
pusillanimity, but which he had thought to have excused himself,
in that he was afraid to put it forth into use and occupy it.

And all this fear cometh by the devil's drift, wherein he taketh
occasion of the faintness of our good and sure trust in God. And
therefore let us faithfully dwell in the good hope of his help,
and then shall the shield of his truth so compass us about that of
this night's fear we shall have no fear at all.


XIV

This pusillanimity bringeth forth, by the night's fear, a very
timorous daughter, a silly wretched girl and ever whining, who is
called Scrupulosity, or a scrupulous conscience.

This girl is a good enough maidservant in a house, never idle but
ever occupied and busy. But albeit she hath a very gentle mistress
who loveth her well and is well content with what she doth--or, if
all be not well (as all cannot always be well), is content to
pardon her as she doth others of her fellows, and letteth her know
that she will do so--yet can this peevish girl never cease whining
and puling for fear lest her mistress be always angry with her and
she shall severely be chidden. Would her mistress, think you, be
likely to be content with this condition? Nay, surely not.

I knew such a one myself, whose mistress was a very wise woman and
(a thing which is in women very rare) very mild also and meek, and
liked very well such service as she did her in the house. But she
so much misliked this continual discomfortable fashion of hers
that she would sometimes say, "Eh, what aileth this girl? The
elvish urchin thinketh I were a devil, I do believe. Surely if she
did me ten times better service than she doth, yet with this
fantastical fear of hers I would be loth to have her in mine
house."

Thus fareth, lo, the scrupulous person, who frameth himself many
times double the fear that he hath cause, and many times a great
fear where there is no cause at all. And of that which is indeed
no sin, he maketh a venial one. And that which is venial, he
imagineth to be deadly--and yet, for all that, he falleth into
them, since they are of their nature such as no man long liveth
without. And then he feareth that he is never fully confessed nor
fully contrite, and then that his sins be never fully forgiven
him. And then he confesseth and confesseth again, and cumbereth
himself and his confessor both. And then every prayer that he
saith, though he say it as well as the frail infirmity of the man
will suffer, yet he is not satisfied unless he say it again, and
yet after that again. And when he hath said the same thing thrice,
as little is he satisfied with the last time as the first. And
then is his heart evermore in heaviness, unquiet, and fear, full
of doubt and dullness, without comfort or spiritual consolation.

With this night's fear the devil sore troubleth the mind of many a
right good man, and that doth he to bring him to some great evil.
For he will, if he can, drive him so much to the fearful minding
of God's rigorous justice, that he will keep him from the
comfortable remembrance of God's great mighty mercy, and so make
him do all his good works wearily and without consolation or
quickness.

Moreover, he maketh him take for a sin something that is not one,
and for a deadly sin one that is but venial, to the intent that
when he shall fall into them he shall, by reason of his scruple,
sin where otherwise he would not, or sin mortally (because his
conscience, in doing the deed, so told him) where otherwise indeed
he would have offended only venially.

Yes, and further, the devil longeth to make all his good works and
spiritual exercises so painful and so tedious to him, that, with
some other subtle suggestion or false wily doctrine of a false
spiritual liberty, he should be easily conveyed from that evil
fault into one much worse, for the false ease and pleasure that he
should suddenly find therein. And then should he have his
conscience as wide and large afterward as ever it was narrow and
straight before. For better is yet, of truth, a conscience a
little too narrow than a little too large.

My mother had, when I was a little boy, a good old woman who took
care of her children. They called her Mother Maud--I daresay you
have heard of her?

VINCENT:  Yea, yea, very much.

ANTHONY:  She was wont, when she sat by the fire with us, to tell
us who were children many childish tales. But as Pliny saith that
there is no book lightly so bad but that a man may pick some good
thing out of it, so think I that there is almost no tale so
foolish but that yet in one matter or another, it may hap to serve
to some purpose.

For I remember me that among others of her foolish tales, she told
us once that the ass and the wolf came upon a time to confession
to the fox. The poor ass came to shrift in Shrovetide, a day or
two before Ash Wednesday. But the wolf would not come to
confession till he saw first Palm Sunday past, and then he put it
off yet further until Good Friday.

The fox asked the ass, before he began _"Benedicite,"_ wherefore
he came to confession so soon, before Lent began. The poor beast
answered him that it was for fear of deadly sin, if he should lose
his part of any of those prayers that the priests in the cleansing
days pray for them who are then confessed already. Then in his
shrift he had a marvellous grudge in his inward conscience, that
he had one day given his master a cause of anger in that, with his
rude roaring before his master arose, he had wakened him out of
his sleep and bereaved him of his rest. The fox, for that fault,
like a good discreet confessor, charged him to do so no more, but
to lie still and sleep like a good son himself until his master
were up and ready to go to work, and so should he be sure that he
should wake him no more.

To tell you all the poor ass's confession, it would be a long
work. For everything that he did was deadly sin with him, the poor
soul was so scrupulous. But his wise wily confessor accounted them
for trifles (as they were) and swore afterward to the badger that
he was so weary to sit so long and hear him that, saving for the
sake of manners, he had rather have sat all that time at breakfast
with a good fat goose. But when it came to the giving of the
penance, the fox found that the most weighty sin in all his shrift
was gluttony. And therefore he discreetly gave him in penance that
he should never for greediness of his food do any other beast any
harm or hindrance. And then he should eat his food and worry no
more.

Now, as good Mother Maud told us, when the wolf came to Father
Reynard (that was, she said, the fox's name) to confession upon
Good Friday, his confessor shook his great pair of beads at him,
almost as big as bowling balls, and asked him wherefore he came so
late. "Forsooth, Father Reynard," quoth he, "I must needs tell you
the truth--I come, you know, for that. I dared not come sooner for
fear lest you would, for my gluttony, have given me in penance to
fast some part of this Lent." "Nay, nay," quoth Father Fox, "I am
not so unreasonable, for I fast none of it myself. For I may say
to thee, son, between us twain here in confession, it is no
commandment of God, this fasting, but an invention of man. The
priests make folk fast, and then put them to trouble about the
moonshine in the water, and do but make folk fools. But they shall
make me no such fool, I warrant thee, son, for I ate flesh all
this Lent, myself. Howbeit indeed, because I will not be occasion
of slander, I ate it secretly in my chamber, out of s

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