XVI

But lest you might reject both these examples, thinking they were

but feigned tales, I shall put you in remembrance of one which I

reckon you yourself have read in the Conferences of Cassian. And

if you have not, there you may soon find it. For I myself have

half forgotten the thing, it is so long since I read it.

But thus much I remember: He telleth there of one who was many

days a very special holy man in his living, and, among the other

virtuous monks and anchorites that lived there in the wilderness,

was marvellously much esteemed. Yet some were not all out of fear

lest his revelations (of which he told many himself) would prove

illusions of the devil. And so it proved afterwards indeed, for

the man was by the devil's subtle suggestions brought into such a

high spiritual pride that in conclusion the devil brought him to

that horrible point that he made him go kill himself.

And, as far as my mind giveth me now, without new sight of the

book, he brought him to it by this persuasion: He made him believe

that it was God's will that he should do so, and that thereby he

should go straight to heaven. And if it were by that persuasion,

with which he took very great comfort in his own mind himself,

then was it, as I said, out of our case, and he needed not comfort

but counsel against giving credence to the devil's persuasion. But

marry, if he made him first perceive how he had been deluded and

then tempted him to his own death by shame and despair, then it

was within our matter. For then was his temptation fallen down

from pride to pusillanimity, and was waxed that kind of the

night's fear that I spoke of. And in such fear a good part of the

counsel to be given him should have need to stand in good

comforting, for then was he brought into right sore tribulation.

But, as I was about to tell you, strength of heart and courage are

there none in that deed, not only because true strength (as it

hath the name of virtue in a reasonable creature) can never be

without prudence, but also because, as I said, even in them that

seem men of most courage, it shall well appear to them that well

weigh the matter that the mind whereby they be led to destroy

themselves groweth of pusillanimity and very foolish fear.

Take for example Cato of Utica, who in Africa killed himself after

the great victory that Julius Caesar had. St. Austine well

declareth in his work _De civitate Dei_ that there was no strength

nor magnanimity in his destruction of himself, but plain

pusillanimity and impotency of stomach. For he was forced to do it

because his heart was too feeble to bear the beholding of another

man's glory or the suffering of other worldly calamities that he

feared should fall on himself. So that, as St. Austine well

proveth, that horrible deed is no act of strength, but an act of a

mind either drawn from the consideration of itself with some

fiendish fancy, in which the man hath need to be called home with

good counsel; or else oppressed by faint heart and fear, in which

a good part of the counsel must stand in lifting up his courage

with good consolation and comfort.

And therefore if we found any such religious person as was that

father whom Cassian writeth of, who were of such austerity and

apparent ghostly living as he was, and reputed by those who well

knew him for a man of singular virtue; and if it were perceived

that he had many strange visions appearing unto him; and if after

that it should now be perceived that the man went about secretly

to destroy himself--whosoever should hap to come to the knowledge

of it and intended to do his best to hinder it, he must first find

the means to search and find out the manner and countenance of the

man. He must see whether he be lightsome, glad, and joyful or

dumpish, heavy, and sad, and whether he go about it as one that

were full of the glad hope of heaven, or as one who had his breast

stuffed full of tediousness and weariness of the world. If he were

found to be of the first fashion, it would be a token that the

devil had, by his fantastical apparitions, puffed him up in such a

childish pride that he hath finally persuaded him, by some

illusion showed him for the proof, that God's pleasure is that he

shall for his sake with his own hands kill himself.

VINCENT: Now, if a man so found it, uncle, what counsel should he

give him then?

ANTHONY: That would be somewhat out of our purpose, cousin, since

(as I told you before) the man would not be in sorrow and

tribulation, of which our matter speaketh, but in a perilous merry

mortal temptation. So that if we should, beside our matter that we

have in hand, enter into that too, we might make a longer work

between both than we could well finish this day. Howbeit, to be

short, it is soon seen that in such a case the sum and effect of

the counsel must (in a manner) rest in giving him warning of the

devil's sleights. And that must be done under such a sweet

pleasant manner that the man should not abhor to hear it. For

while it could not lightly be otherwise that the man were rocked

and sung asleep by the devil's craft, and his mind occupied as it

were in a delectable dream, he should never have good audience of

him who would rudely and boisterously shog him and wake him, and

so shake him out of it. Therefore must you fair and easily touch

him, and with some pleasant speech awake him, so that he wax not

wayward, as children do who are waked ere they wish to rise.

But when a man hath first begun with his praise (for if he be

proud you shall much better please him with a commendation than

with a dirge) then, after favour won therewith, a man may little

by little insinuate the doubt of such revelations--not at first as

though it were for any doubt of his, but of some other man's, that

men in some other places talk of. And peradventure it shall not

miscontent him to say that great perils may fall therein, in

another man's case than his own, and he shall begin to preach upon

it. Or, if you were a man that had not so very great scrupulous

conscience of a harmless lie devised to do good with (the kind

which St. Austine, though he take it always for sin, yet he taketh

but for venial; and St. Jerome, as by divers places in his books

appeareth, taketh not fully for that much), then may you feign

some secret friend of yours to be in such a state. And you may say

that you yourself somewhat fear his peril, and have made of

charity this voyage for his sake, to ask this good father's counsel.

And in the communication, upon these words of St. John, "Give not

credence to every spirit, but prove the spirits whether they be

of God," and these words of St. Paul, "The angel of Satan

transfigureth himself into the angel of light," you shall take

occasion (the better if they hap to come in on his side), but yet

not lack occasion neither if those texts, for lack of his offer,

come in upon your own--occasion, I say, you shall not lack to

enquire by what sure and undeceivable tokens a man may discern the

true revelations from the false illusions. A man shall find many

such tokens both here and there in divers other authors and all

together in divers goodly treatises of that good godly doctor,

Master John Gerson, entitled _De probatione spirituum._ As,

whether the party be natural in manner or seem anything

fantastical. Or, whether the party be poor-spirited or proud. The

pride will somewhat appear by his delight in his own praise; or

if, of wiliness, or of another pride for to be praised of

humility, he refused to hear of that, yet any little fault found

in himself, or diffidence declared and mistrust of his own

revelations and doubtful tokens told, wherefore he himself should

fear lest they be the devil's illusion--such things, as Master

Gerson saith, will make him spit out somewhat of his spirit, if

the devil lie in his breast. Or if the devil be yet so subtle that

he keep himself close in his warm den and blow out never a hot

word, yet it is to be considered what end his revelations tend

to--whether to any spiritual profit to himself or other folk, or

only to vain marvels and wonders. Also, whether they withdraw him

from such other good virtuous business as, by the common rule of

Christendom or any of the rules of his profession, he was wont to

use or bound to be occupied in. Or whether he fall into any

singularity of opinions against the scripture of God, or against

the common faith of Christ's Catholic Church. Many other tokens

are spoken of in the work of Master Gerson, by which to consider

whether the person, neither having revelations of God nor

illusions from the devil, do feign his revelations himself, either

for winning of money or worldly favour, and delude the people

withal.

But now for our purpose: If, among any of the marks by which the

true revelations may be known from false illusions, that man

himself bring forth, for one mark, the doing or teaching of

anything against the scripture of God or the common faith of the

church, you may enter into the special matter, in which he can

never well flee from you. Or else may you yet, if you wish, feign

that your secret friend, for whose sake you come to him for

counsel, is brought to that mind by a certain apparition showed

unto him, as he himself saith, by an angel--as you fear, by the

devil. And that he cannot as yet be otherwise persuaded by you but

that the pleasure of God is that he shall go kill himself. And

that he believeth if he do so he shall then be thereby so

specially participant of Christ's passion that he shall forthwith

be carried up with angels into heaven. And that he is so joyful

for this that he firmly purposeth upon it, no less glad to do it

than another man would be glad to avoid it. And therefore may you

desire his good counsel to instruct you with some substantial good

advice, with which you may turn him from this error, that he be

not, under hope of God's true revelation, destroyed in body and

soul by the devil's false illusion.

If he will in this thing study and labour to instruct you, the

things that he himself shall find, of his own invention, though

they be less effectual, shall peradventure more work with him

toward his own amendment (since he shall, of likelihood, better

like them) than shall things double so substantial that were told

him by another man. If he be loth to think upon that side, and

therefore shrink from the matter, then is there no other way but

to venture to fall into the matter after the plain fashion, and

tell what you hear, and give him counsel and exhortation to the

contrary. Unless you wish to say that thus and thus hath the

matter been reasoned already between your friend and you. And

therein may you rehearse such things as should prove that the

vision which moveth him is no true revelation, but a very false

illusion.

VINCENT: Verily, uncle, I well allow that a man should, in this

thing as well as in every other in which he longeth to do another

man good, seek such a pleasant way that the party should be likely

to like his communication, or at least to take it well in worth.

And he should not enter in unto it in such a way that he whom he

would help should abhor him and be loth to hear him, and therefore

take no profit by him.

But now, uncle, if it come, by the one way or the other, to the

point where he will or shall hear me; what be the effectual means

with which I should by my counsel convert him?

ANTHONY: All those by which you may make him perceive that he is

deceived, and that his visions are no godly revelations but very

devilish illusion. And those reasons must you gather of the man,

of the matter, and of the law of God, or of some one of these.

Of the man may you gather them, if you can peradventure show him

that in such-and-such a point he is waxed worse since such

revelations have haunted him than he was before--as, in those who

are deluded, whosoever be well acquainted with them shall well

mark and perceive. For they wax more proud, more wayward, more

envious, suspicious, misjudging and depraving other men, with the

delight of their own praise, and such other spiritual vices of the

soul.

Of the matter may you gather, if it has happened that his

revelations before have proved false, or if they be strange things

rather than profitable ones. For that is a good mark between God's

miracles and the devil's wonders. For Christ and his saints have

their miracles always tending to fruit and profit. The devil and

his witches and necromancers, all their wonderful works tend to no

fruitful end, but to a fruitless ostentation and show, as it were

a juggler who would for a show before the people play feats of

skill at a feast.

Of the law of God you must draw your reasons in showing by the

scripture that the thing which he thinketh God biddeth by his

angel, God hath by his own mouth forbidden. And that is, you know

well, in the case that we speak of, so easy to find that I need

not to rehearse it to you. For among the Ten Commandments there is

plainly forbidden the unlawful killing of any man, and therefore

of himself, as (St. Austine saith) all the church teacheth, unless

he himself be no man.

VINCENT: This is very true, good uncle, nor will I dispute upon

any glossing of that prohibition. But since we find not the

contrary but that God may dispense with that commandment himself,

and both license and command also, if he himself wish, any man to

go kill either another man or himself, this man who is now by such

a marvellous vision induced to believe that God so biddeth him,

and therefore thinketh himself in that case discharged of that

prohibition and charged with the contrary commandment--with what

reason can we make him perceive that his vision is but an illusion

and not a true revelation?

ANTHONY: Nay, Cousin Vincent, you shall in this case not need to

ask those reasons of me. But taking the scripture of God for a

ground for this matter, you know very well yourself that you shall

go somewhat a shorter way to work if you ask this question of him:

Since God hath forbidden once the thing himself, though he may

dispense with it if he will, yet since the devil may feign himself

God and with a marvellous vision delude one, and make as though

God did it; and since the devil is also more likely to speak

against God's commandment than God against his own; you shall have

good cause, I say, to demand of the man himself whereby he knoweth

that his vision is God's true revelation and not the devil's false

delusion.

VINCENT: Indeed, uncle, I think that would be a hard question to

him. Can a man, uncle, have in such a thing even a very sure

knowledge of his own mind?

ANTHONY: Yea, cousin, God may cast into the mind of a man, I

suppose, such an inward light of understanding that he cannot fail

but be sure thereof. And yet he who is deluded by the devil may

think himself as sure and yet be deceived indeed. And such a

difference is there in a manner between them, as between the sight

of a thing while we are awake and look thereon, and the sight with

which we see a thing in our sleep while we dream thereof.

VINCENT: This is a pretty similitude, uncle, in this thing! And

then is it easy for the monk that we speak of to declare that he

knoweth his vision for a true revelation and not a false delusion,

if there be so great a difference between them.

ANTHONY: Not so easy yet, cousin, as you think it would be. For

how can you prove to me that you are awake?

VINCENT: Marry, lo, do I not now wag my hand, shake my head, and

stamp with my foot here on the floor?

ANTHONY: Have you never dreamed ere this that you have done the

same?

VINCENT: Yes, that have I, and more too than that. For I have ere

this in my sleep dreamed that I doubted whether I were asleep or

awake, and have in good faith thought that I did thereupon even

the same things that I do now indeed, and thereby determined that

I was not asleep. And yet have I dreamed in good faith further,

that I have been afterward at dinner and there, making merry with

good company, have told the same dream at the table and laughed

well at it, to think that while I was asleep I had by such means

of moving the parts of my body and considering thereof, so verily

thought myself awake!

ANTHONY: And will you not now soon, think you, when you wake and

rise, laugh as well at yourself when you see that you lie now in

your warm bed asleep again, and dream all this time, while you

believe so verily that you are awake and talking of these matters

with me?

VINCENT: God's Lord, uncle, you go now merrily to work with me

indeed, when you look and speak so seriously and would make me

think I were asleep!

ANTHONY: It may be that you are, for anything that you can say or

do whereby you can, with any reason that you make, drive me to

confess that you yourself be sure of the contrary. For you cannot

do or say anything now whereby you are sure to be awake but what

you have ere this, or hereafter may, think yourself as surely to

do the selfsame thing indeed while you be all the while asleep and

do nothing but lie dreaming.

VINCENT: Well, well, uncle, though I have ere this thought myself

awake while I was indeed asleep, yet for all this I know well

enough that I am awake now. And so do you too, though I cannot

find the words by which I may with reason force you to confess it,

without your always driving me off by the example of my dream.

ANTHONY: Meseemeth, cousin, this is very true. And likewise

meseemeth the manner and difference between some kind of true

revelations and some kind of false illusions is like that which

standeth between the things that are done awake and the things

that in our dreams seem to be done when we are sleeping. That is,

he who hath that kind of revelation from God is as sure of the

truth as we are of our own deeds while we are awake. And he who is

deluded by the devil is in such wise deceived as they are by their

dream, and worse, too. And yet he reckoneth himself for the time

as sure as the other, saving that one believeth falsely, the other

truly knoweth. But I say not, cousin, that this kind of sure

knowledge cometh in every kind of revelation. For there are many

kinds, of which it would be too long to talk now. But I say that

God doth certainly send some such to a man in some thing, or may.

VINCENT: Yet then this religious man of whom we speak, when I show

him the scripture against his revelation and therefore call it an

illusion, may bid me with reason go mind my own affairs. For he

knoweth well and surely himself that his revelation is very good

and true and not any false illusion, since for all the general

commandment of God in the scripture, God may dispense where he will

and when he will, and may command him to do the contrary. For he

commanded Abraham to kill his own son, and Sampson had, by

inspiration of God, commandment to kill himself by pulling down the

house upon his own head at the feast of the Philistines.

Now, if I would then do as you bade me right now, tell him that

such apparitions may be illusions, and since God's word is in the

scripture against him plain for the prohibition, he must perceive

the truth of his revelation whereby I may know it is not a false

illusion; then shall he in turn bid me tell him whereby I can

prove myself to be awake and talk with him and not be asleep and

dream so, since in my dream I may as surely think so as I know

that I do so. And thus shall he drive me to the same bay to which

I would bring him.

ANTHONY: This is well said, cousin, but yet could he not escape

you so. For the dispensation of God's common precept, which

dispensation he must say that he hath by his private revelation,

is a thing of such sort as showeth itself naught and false. For it

never hath any example like, since the world began until now, that

ever man hath read or heard of, among faithful people commended.

First, as for Abraham, concerning the death of his son: God

intended it not, but only tempted the towardness of the father's

obedience. As for Sampson, all men make not the matter very sure

whether he be saved or not, but yet therein some matter and cause

appeareth. For the Philistines being enemies of God and using

Sampson for their mocking-stock in scorn of God, it is well likely

that God gave him the mind to bestow his own life upon the

revenging of the displeasure that those blasphemous Philistines

did unto God. And that appeareth clear enough by this: that though

his strength failed him when he lacked his hair, yet had he not,

it seemeth, that strength evermore at hand while he had his hair,

but only at such times as it pleased God to give it to him. This

thing appeareth by these words, that the scripture in some place

of that matter saith, "The power or might of God rushed into

Sampson." And so therefore, since this thing that he did in the

pulling down of the house was done by the special gift of strength

then at that point given him by God, it well declareth that the

strength of God, and with it the spirit of God, entered into him

for it.

St. Austine also rehearseth that certain holy virtuous virgins, in

time of persecution, being pursued by God's enemies the infidels

to be deflowered by force, ran into a water and drowned themselves

rather than be bereaved of their virginity. And, albeit that he

thinketh it is not lawful for any other maid to follow their

example, but that she should suffer another to do her any manner

of violence by force and commit sin of his own upon her against

her will, rather than willingly and thereby sinfully herself to

become a homicide of herself; yet he thinketh that in them it

happened by the special instinct of the spirit of God, who, for

causes seen to himself, would rather that they should avoid it

with their own temporal death than abide the defiling and

violation of their chastity.

But now this good man neither hath any of God's enemies to be

revenged on by his own death, nor any woman who violently pursues

him to bereave him by force of his virginity! And we never find

that God proved any man's obedient mind by the commandment of his

own slaughter of himself. Therefore is both his case plainly

against God's open precept, and the dispensation strange and

without example, no cause appearing nor well imaginable. Unless he

would think that God could neither any longer live without him,

nor could take him to him in such wise as he doth other men, but

must command him to come by a forbidden way, by which, without

other cause, we never heard that ever he bade any man else before.

Now, you think that, if you should after this bid him tell you by

what way he knoweth that his intent riseth upon a true revelation

and not upon a false illusion, he in turn would bid you tell him

by what means you know that you are talking with him well awake

and not dreaming it asleep. You may answer him that for men thus

to talk together as you do and to prove and perceive that they do

so, by the moving of themselves, with putting the question unto

themselves for their pleasure, and marking and considering it, is

in waking a daily common thing that every man doth or can do when

he will, and when they do it, they do it but for pleasure. But in

sleep it happeneth very seldom that men dream that they do so, and

in the dream they never put the question except for doubt. And you

may tell him that, since this revelation is such also as happeneth

so seldom and oftener happeneth that men dream of such than have

such indeed, therefore it is more reasonable that he show you how

he knoweth, in such a rare thing and a thing more like a dream,

that he himself is not asleep, than that you, in such a common

thing among folk that are awake and so seldom happening in a

dream, should need to show him whereby you know that you be not

asleep.

Besides this, he to whom you should show it seeth himself and

perceiveth the thing that he would bid you prove. But the thing

that he would make you believe--the truth of his revelation which

you bid him prove--you see not that he knoweth it well himself.

And therefore, ere you believe it against the scripture, it would

be well consonant unto reason that he should show you how he

knoweth it for a true waking revelation and not a false dreaming

delusion.

VINCENT: Then shall he peradventure answer me that whether I

believe him or not maketh to him no matter; the thing toucheth

himself and not me, and he himself is in himself as sure that it

is a true revelation as that he can tell that he dreameth not but

talketh with me awake.

ANTHONY: Without doubt, cousin, if he abide at that point and can

by no reason be brought to do so much as doubt, nor can by no

means be shogged out of his dead sleep, but will needs take his

dream for a very truth, and--as some men rise by night and walk

about their chamber in their sleep--will so rise and hang himself;

I can then see no other way but either bind him fast in his bed,

or else essay whether that might hap to help him with which, the

common tale goeth, a carver's wife helped her husband in such a

frantic fancy. When, upon a Good Friday, he would needs have

killed himself for Christ as Christ did for him, she said to him

that it would then be fitting for him to die even after the same

fashion. And that might not be by his own hands, but by the hand

of another; for Christ, perdy, killed not himself. And because her

husband would take no counsel (for that would he not, in no wise),

she offered him that for God's sake she would secretly crucify him

herself upon a great cross that he had made to nail a new-carved

crucifix upon. And he was very glad thereof. Yet then she

bethought her that Christ was bound to a pillar and beaten first,

and afterward crowned with thorns. Thereupon, when she had by his

own assent bound him fast to a post, she left not off beating,

with holy exhortation to suffer, so much and so long that ere ever

she left work and unbound him (praying nevertheless, that she

might put on his head, and drive well down, a crown of thorns that

she had wrought for him and brought him), he said he thought this

was enough for that year. He would pray God to forbear him of the

rest till Good Friday came again! But when it came again the next

years, then was his desire past; he longed to follow Christ no

further.

VINCENT: Indeed, uncle, if this help him not, then will nothing

help him, I suppose.

ANTHONY: And yet, cousin, the devil may peradventure make him,

toward such a purpose, first gladly suffer other pain; yea, and

diminish his feeling in it, too, that he may thereby the less fear

his death. And yet are peradventure sometimes such things and many

more to be essayed. For as the devil may hap to make him suffer,

so may he hap to miss, namely if his friends fall to prayer for

him against his temptation. For that can he himself never do, while

he taketh it for none.

But, for conclusion: If the man be surely proved so inflexibly set

upon the purpose to destroy himself, as being commanded by God to

do so, that no good counsel that men can give him nor any other

thing that men may do to him can refrain him, but that he would

surely shortly kill himself; then except only good prayer made by

his friends for him, I can find no further shift but either to

have him ever in sight or to bind him fast in his bed.

And so must he needs of reason be content to be ordered. For

though he himself may take his fancy for a true revelation, yet

since he cannot make us perceive it for such, likewise as he

thinketh himself by his secret commandment bound to follow it, so

must he needs agree that, since it is against the plain open

prohibition of God, we are bound by the plain open precept to keep

him from it.

VINCENT: In this point, uncle, I can go no further. But now, if

he were, on the other hand, perceived to intend his destruction

and go about it with heaviness of heart and thought and

dullness--what way would there be to be used to him then?

ANTHONY: Then would his temptation, as I told you before, be

properly pertaining to our matter, for then would he be in a sore

tribulation and a very perilous. For then would it be a token that

the devil had either, by bringing him into some great sin, brought

him into despair, or peradventure, by his revelations being found

false and reproved or by some secret sin of his being deprehended

and divulged, had cast him both into despair of heaven through

fear and into a weariness of this life for shame. For then he

seeth his estimation lost among other folk of whose praise he was

wont to be proud.

And therefore, cousin, in such a case as this, the man is to be

fairly handled and sweetly, and with tender loving words to be put

in good courage, and comforted in all that men goodly can. Here

must they put him in mind that, if he despair not, but pull up his

courage and trust in God's great mercy, he shall have in

conclusion great cause to be glad of this fall. For before he

stood in greater peril than he was aware of, while he took himself

for better than he was. And God, for favour that he beareth him,

hath suffered him to fall deep into the devil's danger, to make

him thereby know what he was while he took himself for so sure.

And therefore, as he suffered him then to fall for a remedy

against over-bold pride, so will God now--if the man meek himself,

not with fruitless despair but with fruitful penance--so set him up

again upon his feet and so strengthen him with his grace, that for

this one fall that the devil hath given him he shall give the

devil a hundred.

And here must he be put in remembrance of Mary Magdalene, of the

prophet David, and especially of St. Peter, whose high bold

courage took a foul fall. And yet because he despaired not of

God's mercy, but wept and called upon it, how highly God took him

into his favour again is well testified in his holy scripture and

well known through Christendom.

And now shall it be charitably done if some good virtuous folk,

such as he himself somewhat esteemeth and hath afore longed to

stand in estimation with, do resort sometimes to him, not only to

give him counsel but also to ask advice and counsel of him in some

cases of their own conscience. For so may they let him perceive

that they esteem him now no less, but rather more than they did

before, since they think him now by this fall better expert of the

devil's craft and so not only better instructed himself but also

better able to give good advice and counsel to others. This thing

will, to my mind, well amend and lift up his courage from the

peril of that desperate shame.

VINCENT: Methinketh, uncle, that this would be a perilous thing.

For it may peradventure make him set the less by his fall, and

thereby it may cast him into his first pride or into his other sin

again, the falling in to which drove him into this despair.

ANTHONY: I do not mean, cousin, that every fool should at

adventure fall in hand with him, for so might it happen to do harm

indeed.

But, cousin, if a learned physician have a man in hand, he can

well discern when and how long some certain medicine is necessary

which, if administered at another time or at that time over-long

continued, might put the patient in peril. If he have his patient

in an ague, for the cure of which he needeth his medicines in

their working cold, yet he may hap, ere that fever be full cured,

to fall into some other disease such that, unless it were helped

with hot medicine, would be likely to kill the body before the

fever could be cured. The physician then would for the while have

his most care to the cure of that thing in which would be the most

present peril. And when that were once out of jeopardy, he would

do then the more exact diligence afterward about the further cure

of the fever.

And likewise, if a ship be in peril to fall into Scilla, the fear

of falling into Charibdis on the other side shall never hinder any

wise master thereof from drawing himself from Scilla toward

Charibdis first, in all that ever he can. But when he hath himself

once so far away from Scilla that he seeth himself safe out of

that danger, then will he begin to take good heed to keep himself

well from the other.

And likewise, while this man is falling down to despair and to the

final destruction of himself, a good wise spiritual leech will

first look unto that, and by good comfort lift up his courage. And

when he seeth that peril well past, he will care for the cure of

his other faults afterward. Howbeit, even in the giving of his

comfort, he may find ways enough in such wise to temper his words

that the men may take occasion of good courage and yet far from

occasion of new relapse into his former sin. For the great part of

his counsel shall be to encourage him to amendment, and that is,

perdy, far from falling into sin again.

VINCENT: I think, uncle, that folk fall into this ungracious

mind, through the devil's temptation, by many more means than one.

ANTHONY: That is, cousin, very true. For the devil taketh his

occasions as he seeth them fall convenient for him. Some he

stirreth to it for weariness of themselves after some great loss,

some for fear of horrible bodily harm, and some (as I said) for

fear of worldly shame.

One I knew myself who had been long reputed for a right honest

man, who was fallen into such a fancy that he was well near worn

away with it. But what he was tempted to do, that would he tell no

man. But he told me that he was sore cumbered and that it always

ran in his mind that folk's fancies were fallen from him, and that

they esteemed not his wit as they were wont to do, but ever his

mind gave him that the people began to take him for a fool. And

folk of truth did not so at all, but reputed him both for wise and

honest.

Two others I knew who were marvellous afraid that they would kill

themselves, and could tell me no cause wherefore they so feared it

except that their own mind so gave them. Neither had they any loss

nor no such thing toward them, nor none occasion of any worldly

shame (the one was in body very well liking and lusty), but

wondrous weary were they both twain of that mind. And always they

thought that they would not do it for anything, and nevertheless

they feared they would. And wherefore they so feared neither of

them both could tell. And the one, lest he should do it, desired

his friends to bind him.

VINCENT: This is, uncle, a marvellous strange manner.

ANTHONY: Forsooth, cousin, I suppose many of them are in this

case.

The devil, as I said before, seeketh his occasions. For as St.

Peter saith, "Your adversary the devil as a roaring lion goeth

about seeking whom he may devour." He marketh well, therefore, the

state and condition that every man standeth in, not only

concerning these outward things (lands, possessions, goods,

authority, fame, favour, or hatred of the world), but also men's

complexions within them--health or sickness, good humours or bad,

by which they be light-hearted or lumpish, strong-hearted or faint

and feeble of spirit, bold and hardy or timorous and fearful of

courage. And according as these things minister him matter of

temptation, so useth he himself in the manner of his temptation.

Now likewise as in such folk as are full of young warm lusty blood

and other humours exciting the flesh to filthy voluptuous living,

the devil useth to make those things his instruments in tempting

them and provoking them to it; and as, where he findeth some folk

full of hot blood and choler, he maketh those humours his

instruments to set their hearts on fire in wrath and fierce

furious anger; so where he findeth some folk who, through some

dull melancholy humours, are naturally disposed to fear, he

casteth sometimes such a fearful imagination into their mind that

without help of God they can never cast it out of their heart.

Some, at the sudden falling of some horrible thought into their

mind, have not only had a great abomination at it (which

abomination they well and virtuously had), but the devil, using

their melancholy humour and thereby their natural inclination to

fear for his instruments, hath caused them to conceive therewith

such a deep dread besides that they think themselves with that

abominable thought to be fallen into such an outrageous sin that

they are ready to fall into despair of grace, believing that God

hath given them over for ever. Whereas that thought, were it never

so horrible and never so abominable, is yet unto those who never

like it, but ever still abhor it and strive still against it,

matter of conflict and merit and not any sin at all.

Some have, with holding a knife in their hand, suddenly thought

upon the killing of themselves, and forthwith, in devising what a

horrible thing it would be if they should mishap to do so, have

fallen into a fear that they would do so indeed. And they have,

with long and often thinking thereon, imprinted that fear so sore

in their imagination, that some of them have not afterwards cast

it off without great difficulty. And some could never in their

life be rid of it, but have afterward in conclusion miserably done

it indeed. But like as, where the devil useth the blood of a man's

own body toward his purpose in provoking him to lechery, the man

must and doth with grace and wisdom resist it; so must the man do

whose melancholy humours and devil abuseth, toward the casting of

such a desperate dread into his heart.

VINCENT: I pray you, uncle, what advice would be to be given him

in such a case?

ANTHONY: Surely, methinketh his help standeth in two things:

counsel and prayer.

First, as concerning counsel: Like as it may be that he hath two

things that hold him in his temptation; that is, some evil humours

of his own body, and the cursed devil that abuseth them to his

pernicious purpose, so must he needs against them twain the

counsel of two manner of folk; that is, physicians for the body

and physicians for the soul. The bodily physician shall consider

what abundance of these evil humours the man hath, that the devil

maketh his instruments, in moving the man toward that fearful

affection. And he shall proceed by fitting diet and suitable

medicines to resist them, as well as by purgations to disburden

the body of them.

Let no man think it strange that I would advise a man to take

counsel for the body, in such spiritual suffering. For since the

body and the soul are so knit and joined together that they both

make between them one person, the distemperance of either one

engendereth sometimes the distemperance of both twain. And

therefore I would advise every man in every sickness of the body

to be shriven and to seek of a good spiritual physician the sure

health of his soul. For this shall not only serve against peril

that may peradventure grow further by that sickness than in the

beginning men think were likely, but the comfort of it (and God's

favour increasing with it) shall also do the body good. For this

cause the blessed apostle St. James exhorteth men in their bodily

sickness to call in the priests, and saith that it shall do them

good both in body and soul. So likewise would I sometimes advise

some men, in some sickness of the soul, besides their spiritual

leech, to take also some counsel of the physician for the body.

Some who are wretchedly disposed, and yet long to be more vicious

than they are, go to physicians and apothecaries and enquire what

things may serve them to make them more lusty to their foul

fleshly delight. And would it then be any folly, on the other

hand, if he who feeleth himself against his will much moved unto

such uncleanness, should enquire of the physician what things,

without diminishing his health, would be suitable for the

diminishing of such foul fleshly motion?

Of spiritual counsel, the first is to be shriven, that the devil

have not the more power upon him by reason of his other sins.

VINCENT: I have heard some say, uncle, that when such folk have

been at shrift, their temptation hath been the more hot upon them

than it was before.

ANTHONY: That think I very well, but that is a special token that

shrift is wholesome for them, since the devil is most wroth with

it. You find, in some places in the gospel, that the devil did

most trouble the person whom he possessed when he saw that Christ

would cast him out. Otherwise, we must let the devil do what he

will, if we fear his anger, for with every good deed will he wax

angry.

Then is it in his shrift to be told him that he not only feareth

more than he needeth, but also feareth where he needeth not. And

besides that, he is sorry for a thing for which, unless he will

willingly turn his good into his harm, he hath more cause to be

glad.

First, if he have cause to fear, yet feareth he more than he

needeth. For there is no devil so diligent to destroy him as God

is to preserve him; nor no devil so near him to do him harm as God

is to do him good. Nor are all the devils in hell so strong to

invade and assault him as God is to defend him if he distrust him

not but faithfully put his trust in him.

He feareth also where he needeth not. For he dreadeth that he were

out of God's favour, because such horrible thoughts fall into his

mind, but he must understand that while they fall into his mind

against his will they are not imputed unto him.

He is, finally, sad of that of which he may be glad. For since he

taketh such thoughts displeasantly, and striveth and fighteth

against them, he hath thereby a good token that he is in God's

favour, and that God assisteth him and helpeth him. And he may

make himself sure that so will God never cease to do, unless he

himself fail and fall from him first. And beside that, this

conflict that he hath against the temptation shall, if he will not

fall where he need not, be an occasion of his merit and of a right

great reward in heaven. And the pain that he taketh therein shall

for so much, as Master Gerson well showeth, stand him in stead of

his purgatory.

The manner of the fight against temptation must stand in three

things: that is, in resisting, and in contemning, and in the

invocation of help.

Resist must a man for his own part with reason, considering what a

folly it would be to fall where he need not, since he is not

driven to it in avoiding of any other pain or in hope of winning

any manner of pleasure, but contrariwise he would by that fall

lose everlasting bliss and fall into everlasting pain. And if it

were in avoiding of other great pain, yet could he avoid none so

great thereby as the one he should thereby fall into.

He must also consider that a great part of this temptation is in

effect but the fear of his own fancy, the dread that he hath lest

he shall once be driven to it. For he may be sure that (unless he

himself will, of his own folly) all the devils in hell can never

drive him to it, but his own foolish imagination may. For it

fareth in his temptation like a man going over a high bridge who

waxeth so afraid, through his own fancy, that he falleth down

indeed, when he would otherwise be able enough to pass over

without any danger. For a man upon such a bridge, if folk call

upon him, "You fall, you fall!" may fall with the fancy that he

taketh thereof; although, if folk looked merrily upon him and

said, "There is no danger therein," he would pass over the bridge

well enough--and he would not hesitate to run upon it, if it were

but a foot from the ground. So, in this temptation, the devil

findeth the man of his own foolish fancy afraid and then crieth in

the ear of his heart, "Thou fallest, thou fallest!" and maketh the

foolish man afraid that he should, at every foot, fall indeed. And

the devil so wearieth him with that continual fear, if he give the

ear of his heart to him, that at last he withdraweth his mind from

due remembrance of God, and then driveth him to that deadly

mischief indeed. Therefore, like as, against the vice of the

flesh, the victory standeth not all in the fight, but sometimes

also in the flight (saving that it is indeed a part of a wise

warrior's fight to flee from his enemies' traps), so must a man in

this temptation too, not only resist it always with reasoning

against it, but sometimes set it clear at right naught and cast it

off when it cometh and not once regard it so much as to vouchsafe

to think thereon.

Some folk have been clearly rid of such pestilent fancies with

very full contempt of them, making a cross upon their hearts and

bidding the devil avaunt. And sometimes they laugh him to scorn

too, and then turn their mind unto some other matter. And when the

devil hath seen that they have set so little by him, after certain

essays, made in such times as he thought most fitting, he hath

given that temptation quite over. And this he doth not only

because the proud spirit cannot endure to be mocked, but also

lest, with much tempting the man to the sin to which he could not

in conclusion bring him, he should much increase his merit.

The final fight is by invocation of help unto God, both praying

for himself and desiring others also to pray for him--both poor

folk for his alms and other good folk of their charity, especially

good priests in that holy sacred service of the Mass. And not only

them but also his own good angel and other holy saints such as his

devotion specially doth stand unto. Or, if he be learned, let him

use then the litany, with the holy suffrages that follow, which is

a prayer in the church of marvellous old antiquity. For it was not

made first, as some believe, by that holy man St. Gregory (which

opinion arose from the fact that, in the time of a great

pestilence in Rome, he caused the whole city to go in solemn

procession with it), but it was in use in the church many years

before St. Gregory's days, as well appeareth by the books of other

holy doctors and saints, who were dead hundreds of years before

St. Gregory was born.

And holy St. Bernard giveth counsel that every man should make

suit unto angels and saints to pray for him to God in the things

that he would have furthered by his holy hand. If any man will

stick at that, and say it needs not, because God can hear us

himself; and will also say that it is perilous to do so because

(they say) we are not so counseled by scripture, I will not

dispute the matter here. He who will not do it, I hinder him not

to leave it undone. But yet for mine own part, I will as well

trust to the counsel of St. Bernard, and reckon him for as good

and as well learned in scripture, as any man whom I hear say the

contrary. And better dare I jeopard my soul with the soul of St.

Bernard than with that of him who findeth that fault in his

doctrine.

Unto God himself every good man counseleth to have recourse above

all. And, in this temptation, to have special remembrance of

Christ's passion, and pray him for the honour of his death, the

ground of man's salvation, to keep this person thus tempted form

that damnable death.

Special verses may be drawn out of the psalter, against the

devil's wicked temptations--as, for example, _"Exsurgat Deus et

dissipentur inimici eius, et fugiant qui oderunt eum a facie

eius,"_ and many others--which in such horrible temptation are

pleasing to God and to the devil very terrible. But none is more

terrible nor more odious to the devil than the words with which

our Saviour drove him away himself: _"Vade Sathana."_ And no

prayer is more acceptable unto God, nor more effectual in its

matter, than those words which our Saviour hath taught us himself,

_"Ne nos inducas in tentationem, sed libera nos a malo."_ And I

doubt not, by God's grace, but that he who in such a temptation

will use good counsel and prayer and keep himself in good virtuous

business and good virtuous company and abide in the faithful hope

of God's help, he shall have the truth of God (as the prophet

saith in the verse afore rehearsed) so compass him about with a

shield that he shall not need to dread this night's fear of this

wicked temptation.

And thus will I finish this piece of the night's fear. And glad am

I that we are past it, and come once unto the day, to those other

words of the prophet, _"A sagitta volante in die."_ For methinketh

I have made it a long night!

VINCENT: Forsooth, uncle, so have you, but we have not slept in

it, but been very well occupied. But now I fear that unless you

make here a pause till you have dined, you shall keep yourself

from your dinner over-long.

ANTHONY: Nay, nay, cousin, for I broke my fast even as you came

in. And also you shall find this night and this day like a winter

day and a winter night. For as the winter hath short days and long

nights, so shall you find that I made you not this fearful night

so long but what I shall make you this light courageous day as

short.

And so shall the matter require well of itself indeed. For in

these words of the prophet, "The truth of God shall compass thee

round about with a shield from the arrow flying in the day," I

understand the arrow of pride, with which the devil tempteth a

man, not in the night (that is, in tribulation and adversity), for

that time is too discomfortable and too fearful for pride, but in

the day (that is, in prosperity), for that time is full of

lightsome pleasure and courage. But surely this worldly prosperity

in which a man so rejoiceth and of which the devil maketh him so

proud, is but a very short winter day. For we begin, many full

poor and cold, and up we fly like an arrow shot into the air. And

yet when we be suddenly shot up into the highest, ere we be well

warm there, down we come unto the cold ground again. And then even

there stick we still. And yet for the short while that we be

upward and aloft--Lord, how lusty and how proud we be, buzzing

above busily, as a bumblebee flieth about in summer, never aware

that she shall die in winter! And so fare many of us, God help us.

For in the short winter day of worldly wealth and prosperity, this

flying arrow of the devil, this high spirit of pride, shot out of

the devil's bow and piercing through our heart, beareth us up in

our affection aloft into the clouds, where we think we sit on the

rainbow and overlook the world under us, accounting in the regard

of our own glory such other poor souls as were peradventure wont

to be our fellows for silly poor pismires and ants.

But though this arrow of pride fly never so high in the clouds,

and though the man whom it carrieth up so high be never so joyful

thereof, yet let him remember that, be this arrow never so light,

it hath yet a heavy iron head. And therefore, fly it never so

high, down must it needs come, and on the ground must it light.

And sometimes it falleth not in a very cleanly place, but the

pride turneth into rebuke and shame and there is then all the

glory gone.

Of this arrow speaketh the wise man in the fifth chapter of the

book of Wisdom, where he saith in the person of them that in pride

and vanity passed the time of this present life, and after that so

spent, passed hence into hell: "What hath pride profited us? Or

what good hath the glory of our riches done unto us? Passed are

all those things like a shadow . . . or like an arrow shot out

into the place appointed; the air that was divided is forthwith

returned unto the place, and in such wise closed together again

that the way is not perceived in which the arrow went. And in like

wise we, as soon as we were born, are forthwith vanished away, and

have left no token of any good virtue behind us, but are consumed

and wasted and come to naught in our malignity. They, lo, that

have lived here in sin, such words have they spoken when they lay

in hell."

Here shall you, good cousin, consider, that whereas the scripture

here speaketh of the arrow shot into its place appointed or

intended, in the shooting of this arrow of pride there be divers

purposings and appointings. For the proud man himself hath no

certain purpose or appointment at any mark, butt, or prick upon

earth, at which he determineth to shoot and there to stick and

tarry. But ever he shooteth as children do, who love to shoot up

cop-high, to see how high their arrow can fly up. But now doth the

devil intend and appoint a certain mark, surely set in a place into

which he purposeth--fly this arrow never so high and the proud

heart on it--to have them both alight at last, and that place is in

the very pit of hell. There is set the devil's well-acquainted

prick and his very just mark. And with his pricking shaft of pride

he hath by himself a plain proof and experience that down upon this

prick (unless it be stopped by some grace of God on the way) the

soul that flieth up with it can never fail to fall. For when he

himself was in heaven and began to fly cop-high, with the lusty

light flight of pride, saying, "I will fly up above the stars and

set my throne on the sides of the north, and will be like unto the

Highest," long ere he could fly up half so high as he said in his

heart that he would, he was turned from a bright glorious angel

into a dark deformed devil, and from flying any further upward,

down was he thrown into the deep dungeon of hell.

Now may it, peradventure, cousin, seem that, since this kind of

temptation of pride is no tribulation or pain, all this that we

speak of this sorrow of pride flying forth in the day of

prosperity, would be beside our matter.

VINCENT: Verily, mine uncle, and so seemed it unto me. And

somewhat was I minded so to say to you, too, saving that, whether

it were properly pertaining to the present matter or somewhat

digressing from it, methought it was good matter and such as I had

no wish to leave.

ANTHONY: But now must you consider, cousin, that though

prosperity be contrary to tribulation, yet unto many a good man

the devil's temptation to pride in prosperity is a greater

tribulation, and more hath need of good comfort and good counsel

both, than he who never felt it would believe. And that is the

thing, cousin, that maketh me speak of it as of a thing proper to

this matter. For, cousin, as it is a right hard thing to touch

pitch and never defile the fingers, to put flax unto fire and yet

keep them from burning, to keep a serpent in thy bosom and yet be

safe from stinging, to put young men with young women without

danger of foul fleshly desire--so it is hard for any person,

either man or woman, in great worldly wealth and much prosperity,

so to withstand the suggestions of the devil and occasions given

by the world that they keep themselves from the deadly danger of

ambitious glory. And if a man fall into it, there followeth upon

it a whole flood of all unhappy mischief: arrogant manner, high

solemn bearing, overlooking the poor in word and countenance,

displeasant and disdainful behaviour, ravine, extortion,

oppression, hatred and cruelty.

Now, many a good man, cousin, come into great authority, casteth

in his mind the peril of such occasions of pride as the devil

taketh of prosperity to make his instruments of, with which to

move men to such high point of presumption as engendereth so many

great evils. And, feeling the devil therewith offering him

suggestions to it, he is sore troubled therewith. And some fall so

afraid of it that even in the day of prosperity they fall into the

night's fear of pusillanimity, and they leave the things undone in

which they might use themselves well. And mistrusting the aid and

help of God in holding them upright in their temptations, whereby

for faint heart they leave off good business in which they would

be well occupied. And, under pretext (as it seemeth to themselves)

of humble heart and meekness, and of serving God in contemplation

and silence, they seek their own ease and earthly rest unawares.

And with this, if it be so, God is not well content.

Howbeit, if it be so that a man, by the experience that he hath of

himself, perceiveth that in wealth and authority he doth his own

soul harm, and cannot do the good that to his part appertaineth;

but seeth the things that he should set his hands to sustain,

decay through his default and fall to ruin under him, and seeth

that to the amendment thereof he leaveth his own duty undone; then

would I in any wise advise him to leave off that thing--be it

spiritual benefice that he have, parsonage or bishopric, or

temporal office and authority--and rather give it over quite and

draw himself aside and serve God, than to take the worldly worship

and commodity for himself, with incommodity of those whom his duty

would be to profit.

But, on the other hand, he may not see the contrary but what he

may do his duty conveniently well, and may fear nothing but that

the temptations of ambition and pride may peradventure turn his

good purpose and make him decline unto sin. I deny not that it is

well done to stand always in moderate fear, for the scripture

saith, "Blessed is the man that is always fearful," and St. Paul

saith, "He that standeth, let him look that he fall not." Yet is

over-much fear perilous and draweth toward the mistrust of God's

gracious help. This immoderate fear and faint heart holy scripture

forbiddeth, saying, "Be not feeble-hearted or timorous." Let such

a man therefore temper his fear with good hope, and think that

since God hath set him in that place (if he think that God have

set him in it), God will assist him with his grace to use it well.

Howbeit, if he came to it by simony or some such other evils

means, then that would be one good reason wherefore he should

rather leave it off. But otherwise let him continue in his good

business. And, against the devil's provocation unto evil, let him

bless himself and call unto God and pray, and look that the devil

tempt him not to lean the more toward the contrary.

Let him pity and comfort those who are in distress and affliction.

I mean not that he should let every malefactor pass forth

unpunished, and freely run out and rob at random. But in his heart

let him be sorry to see that of necessity, for fear of decaying

the common weal, men are driven to put malefactors to pain. And

yet where he findeth good tokens and likelihood of amendment,

there let him help all that he can that mercy may be had. There

shall never lack desperately disposed wretched enough besides,

upon whom, as an example, justice can proceed. Let him think, in

his own heart, that every poor beggar is his fellow.

VINCENT: That will be very hard, uncle, for an honourable man to

do, when he beholdeth himself richly apparelled and the beggar

rigged in his rags.

ANTHONY: If there were here, cousin, two men who were both

beggars, and afterward a great rich man would take one unto him,

and tell him that for a little time he would have him in his

house, and thereupon arrayed him in silk and gave him a great bag

by his side, filled even with gold, but giving him this catch

therewith: that, within a little while, out he should go in his

old rags again, and bear never a penny with him--if this beggar

met his fellow now, while his gay gown was on, might he not, for

all his gay gear, take him for his fellow still? And would he not

be a very fool if, for a wealth of a few weeks, he would think

himself far his better?

VINCENT: Yes, uncle, if the difference in their state were no

other.

ANTHONY: Surely, cousin, methinketh that in this world, between

the richest and the most poor, the difference is scant so much. For

let the highest look on the most base, and consider how they both

came into this world. And then let him consider further that,

howsoever rich he be now, he shall yet, within a while--

peradventure less than one week--walk out again as poor as that

beggar shall. And then, by my troth, methinketh this rich man much

more than mad if, for the wealth of a little while--haply less than

one week--he reckon himself in earnest any better than the beggar's

fellow.

And less than thus can no man think, who hath any natural wit and

well useth it. But now a Christian man, cousin, who hath the light

of faith, he cannot fail to think much further in this thing. For

he will think not only upon his bare coming hither and his bare

going hence again, but also the dreadful judgment of God, and upon

the fearful pains of hell and the inestimable joys of heaven. And

in the considering of these things, he will call to remembrance

that peradventure when this beggar and he are both departed hence,

the beggar may be suddenly set up in such royalty that well were

he himself that ever was he born if he might be made his fellow.

And he who well bethinketh him, cousin, upon these things, I

verily think that the arrow of pride flying forth in the day of

worldly wealth shall never so wound his heart that ever it shall

bear him up one foot.

But now, to the intent that he may think on such things the

better, let him use often to resort to confession. And there let

him open his heart and, by the mouth of some virtuous ghostly

father, have such things often renewed in his remembrance. Let him

also choose himself some secret solitary place in his own house,

as far from noise and company as he conveniently can, and thither

let him sometimes secretly resort alone, imagining himself as one

going out of the world even straight unto the giving up his

reckoning unto God of his sinful living. There, before an altar or

some pitiful image of Christ's bitter passion, the beholding of

which may put him in remembrance of the thing and move him to

devout compassion, let him then kneel down or fall prostrate as at

the feet of almighty God, verily believing him to be there

invisibly present, as without any doubt he is. There let him open

his heart to God and confess his faults, such as he can call to

mind, and pray God for forgiveness. Let him call to remembrance

the benefits that God hath given him, either in general among

other men or privately to himself, and give him humble hearty

thanks for them. There let him declare unto God the temptations of

the devil, the suggestions of the flesh, the occasions of the

world--and of his worldly friends, much worse many times in

drawing a man from God than are his most mortal enemies, as our

Saviour witnesseth himself where he saith, "The enemies of a man

are they that are his own familiars." There let him lament and

bewail unto God his own frailty, negligence, and sloth in

resisting and withstanding of temptation; his readiness and

proneness to fall into it. There let him lamentably beseech God,

of his gracious aid and help, to strengthen his infirmity--both to

keep him from falling and, when he by his own fault misfortuneth

to fall, then with the helping hand of his merciful grace to lift

him up and set him on his feet in the state of his grace again.

And let this man not doubt but that God heareth him and granteth

him gladly his boon.

And so, dwelling in the faithful trust of God's help, he shall

well use his prosperity, and persevere in his good profitable

business, and shall have the truth of God so compass him about

with a shield of his heavenly defence that he shall not need to

dread of the devil's arrow flying in the day of worldly wealth.

VINCENT: Forsooth, uncle, I like this good counsel well. And I

should think that those who are in prosperity and take such order

therein, may do much good both to themselves and to other folk.

ANTHONY: I beseech our Lord, cousin, to put this and better in

the mind of every man who needeth it.

And now will I touch one word or twain of the third temptation, of

which the prophet speaketh in these words: "From the business

walking in the darknesses." And then will we call for our dinner,

leaving the last temptation--that is, "from the incursion and the

devil of the midday"--till afternoon. And then shall we with that,

God willing, make an end of all this matter.

VINCENT: Our Lord reward you, good uncle, for your good labour

with me. But, for our Lord's sake, take good heed, uncle, that you

forbear not your dinner over-long.

ANTHONY: Fear not that, cousin, I warrant you, for this piece

will I make you but short.