The wisdom and wit of Blessed Thomas More : being extracts from such of his works as were written in English

V

WISDOM AND WIT.

BURNS AND DATES, PRINTERS, LONDON.

THE WISDOM AND WIT

OF

BLESSED THOMAS MORE

BEING EXTRACTS FROM SUCH OF HIS WORKS AS
WERE WRITTEN IN ENGLISH

COLLECTED AND EDITED

BY

REV. T. E. BRIDGETT, C.SS.R.

AUTHOR OF "LIFE OF BLESSED THOMAS MORE," ETC.

tell furngsheb of one speciall ihgttjje, toithottt tohich all lecngnae is halfe lame.
SHhat is that? quob he. Jttarg, qtiob I, a floob mother togt.— Sir T.

Dialogue, p. 153 ^*.«*I.,T« -«

LONDON : BURNS & GATES, LD.
NEW YORK: CATHOLIC PUBLICATION SOCIETY C
1892

MAY 26 1953

PREFACE.

IN 1891 I published the Life and Writings of Sir
Thomas More. In that volume I gave a short
account of his various books and pamphlets both in
Latin and English, together with numerous extracts
and translations. Several of my reviewers expressed
a hope that a complete Library Edition of the Works
of More might soon be undertaken. Perhaps the
present collection may serve as a sample both of his
matter and manner, and hasten the desired reprint.
As such a publication, however, would be very costly,
and must of course retain the old spelling, it would
not bring the wisdom or the wit of the great writer
much nearer to the general public, and the selection
I have made would still be useful. I had announced
a reprint, somewhat abridged, of the holy martyr's
Dialogue of Comfort against Tribulation, written by
him in the Tower ; but I am glad to find there is a
remainder of Dolman's reprint still on sale by Mr.
Baker, of I Soho Square. I have, therefore, merely
added extracts from it to selections from his other
writings. I have thought it better not to reproduce
here any of the passages of More's various writings
that I have interwoven into his life. Thus the two

VJ I'Kl !

books supplement each other. While I have moder
nised the >pellin» I have not ventured to make any
change in words or structure. A very few verbal
explanations in the notes will remove any difficulty
that could be experienced from archaic language.
Morc's style is easy compared with that of many later
writers.

A volume of Extracts from Sir Thomas More's
writings was printed at Baltimore in 1841 by the Rev.
Joseph Walter, an American Catholic priest, author
of a Life of More.1 I have made my own collection
independently.

The compilers of our great philological dictionaries
are at length giving to Sir Thomas More's writings
the attention they deserve. They would well repay
a careful search by students of our language. To
facilitate such search I have given careful references to
the page of the folio edition, and where attention is
specially drawn to phraseology, as in Part V., even to
the marginal letter of each page. Copies of the
original editions of More's writings are excessively
rare. Even the British Museum has only a very few.
I have used throughout the great collection of his
English works, made by his nephew William Rastell,
and printed by John Cawood, John Waly, and
Richard Tottell in 1557. It is printed i:i the old
black-letter type, and contains 1458 pages in double

1 Both works were reprinted in England by Dolman, and are long
out of print.

PREFACE.

columns. The Antwerp reprint of the Dialogue of
Comfort, made by John Fowler in 1573, professes to
be corrected by collation " of sundry copies " in MS.
But I have found that, wherever it differs from
Rastell's edition, the latter has intrinsic evidence of
giving the correct reading. The fact that it was
thrice printed on the Continent — in 1573, 1574, and
1578 — is a great proof that this treatise was indeed
a " comfort against tribulation " to the persecuted
Catholics of England or their countrymen in exile.
The modern reader will find that it has lost nothing
of its charm or of its utility.

I have ventured to prefix to my selection a short
essay on the wisdom and wit of Blessed More.

T. E. BRIDGETT, C.SS.R.

ENGLISH WORKS OF MORE.

Various Youthful Poems.

Life of John Picus, Earl of Mirandula (a translation).

History of King Richard III. (written in 1513).

Four Last Things (written 1522).

Dialogue Concerning Heresies (1528, quoted as " Dialogue ").

Supplication of Souls (1529).

Confutation of Tindale (1532).

Answer to Frith (1533).

Apology (1533).

Debellation of Salem and Bizance (1533).

Answer to the Masker (1533).

Dialogue of Comfort against Tribulation (1.534).

Treatise on the Passion (1535).

Letters.

CONTENTS.

P'AGK
INTRODUCTORY : —

I. His Wisdom, i

II. His Wit, ii

PART THE FIRST.
Ascetic, 27

PART THE SECOND.
Dogmatic, 99

PART THE THIRD.
Illustrative of the Period, 155

PART THE FOURTH.
Fancies, Sports, and Merry Tales, 181

PART THE FIFTH.
Colloquial and Quaint Phrases, ...... 217

Index,

233

INTRODUCTORY ESSAY

THE WISDOM AND WIT OF BLESSED THOMAS.1

I. HIS WISDOM.

BY wisdom, we may understand a true and deep knowledge
of the nature of human life, the purpose for which it has
been given, and the means by which that purpose may
be best attained. By wisdom, we understand also the
penetration of the truths of faith, the power of comparing
spiritual things with spiritual, as also with things natural,
and of making human literature and philosophy the cheerful
handmaids of Divine revelation. Of Blessed Thomas
More's theoretical wisdom, the extracts given in the present
volume, though suffering much from being separated from
their context, will give, at least, a glimpse. But wisdom is
above all things practical. He, indeed, cannot be said to
possess it who is not possessed by it and guided by it.
Without attempting a biography of More, I may glance
here at the wisdom which dignified and sanctified his life.
The general outlines of that life I may suppose in the
memory of my reader.

1 The substance of the following essay is from two lectures
delivered by the author, in Chelsea, in 1890 and 1891.

(0

2 INTRODUCTORY.

Wli, a youth in his father's house. he

conceived the design of nine pageants, or emblems, to he-
executed either in painting or tapestry, for which he
composed, in English and Latin verses, the mottoes or
explanations. These pageants represented the life of man.
not exactly in the seven stages which Shakespeare has made
so famous, but through the whole range of time and eternity.
They represented Childhood, Youth, Love, Age, Death,
Fame, Time, and Eternity ; and, lastly, the Poet MI mm ing
up the whole. Death, of course, boasts that he has
conquered all. Then Fame steps in : —

O cruel Death, thy power I confound ;
When thou a noble man hast brought to ground
Maugre thy teeth, to live cause him shall I
Of people in perpetual memory —

words which are strikingly fulfilled in the case of the young
writer, whose fame will never perish on this earth. In the
seventh pageant Time scoffs at the promises of Fame,
since Time in its progress will destroy the world itself,
and then Fame will be mute. Eternity rebukes Time,
which is but the revolution of the sun and moon ; true-
goods and true fame shall subsist throughout eternity, when
time itself is dead. The poet then concludes that nothing
is of value but the love of the Eternal God, and nothing
worth hoping for but His possession. We do not generally
attach much importance to the sentiments expressed in
poetry by a clever youth as regards religion or philosophy,
for he easily appropriates whatever he finds at hand, and he
may write a theme on the brevity of life or the vanity of
fortune, without being the less eager to have a long life and
plenty of its good things. But the life of Blessed Thomas

INTRODUCTORY. 3

More shows that from his boyhood he had thoroughly
imbibed the philosophy of time and eternity which he thus
expressed. It would be an interesting task for the artist
and the poet to picture his beautiful life and death, his fame
and his eternal recompense, in a series of pageants. I can
only attempt this very faintly.

And first as regards his Early Manhood. In the second
of his pageants More makes his young man say : —

To hunt and hawk, to nourish up and feed

The greyhound to the course, the hawk to the flight,

And to bestride a good and lusty steed,

These things become a very man indeed.

But in none of these things did More make the delight
and the glory of his own youth to consist. That he
preferred Latin and Greek to hunting and hawking might
betoken only a difference of taste, not moral or spiritual
excellence. His biographers, however, tell us that, amid
his first literary triumphs, in his first success as a lawyer and
a politician, the thought of the emptiness of this world took
so deep a hold on his soul that he spent four years in the
practice of devotion and extraordinary austerity among the
Carthusians, debating whether he should either retire
altogether from the world's cares and pleasures, or, as a
priest, in an austere and active order, labour for the world's
improvement. He wrote the life and translated some of
the spiritual works of Pico della Mirandola, a young Italian
nobleman of marvellous talent, and no less holiness, who
had abandoned his great possessions, and resolved,
" fencing himself with the crucifix, barefoot walking about
the world, in every town and castle to preach Christ," and
who was about to enter the Dominican Order for this

4 IN'li 1'V.

purpose, when lie died at the early age of thirty-two. More
had clearly taken Pico for his model, though it was not
God's will that he should execute his plans any more than
Pico himself. In his interior spirit, however, he copied him
closely. He tells us, among other things, that when the
Count of Mirandola was dying, and some mistaken consolers
were reminding him that his early death would free him
from many pains and sorrows which a longer life would
certainly bring, the dying man said, with a smile :
no, that is not the advantage of death. It is that it puts
an end to sin, and to the danger of offendrng and losing
God." To keep himself unspotted by the world, and to he
found at death spotless in the presence of his God, was the
wisdom and philosophy of Blessed More as well as of
Pico.

Another pageant ! When More, for reasons I need not
now enter on, had decided that he should marry and pursue
the legal career to which his father had destined him, he
gave himself heartily to his profession, because it was the
will of God, though he never seems to have regarded it with
any predilection. He is said to have been the first
Englishman who ever raised himself to distinction by
oratory. He was a beautiful speaker, and the power of his
mind and his grasp of law were such that he was sure of
success if right was on his side, and he would never
undertake a civil case until he had first assured himself of
this. He soon came to make as a barrister an income
which, if we take account of the change in the value of
money, would compete with the great incomes of the mo.st
successful pleaders in our own days. He had become also
a great favourite with the citizens of London, and wa

INTRODUCTORY. 5

to Flanders on an important embassy. What were now the
thoughts and feelings of the Successful Man of the World!
Was the world become a more substantial reality ? Had
heaven faded away into the thin azure ? Far from it. At
this time, in the year 1516, when he was thirty-eight years old,
he wrote his famous Utopia. The citizens of this model
republic have but the light of Nature. Though divided in
their opinions about religion, there was, says More, one
matter in which all were agreed : that death is a boon and
not a calamity. In describing the public worship of this
imaginary people, he says : " Then they pray that God
may give them an easy passage at last to Himself, not
presuming to set limits to Him, how early or late it should
be ; but, if it may be wished for without derogating from
His supreme authority, they desire to be quickly delivered,
and to be taken to Himself, though by the most terrible
kind of death, rather than to be detained long from seeing
Him by the most prosperous course of life ".

In another passage More thus described their views of
life, death, and eternity : " Though they are compassionate
to all that are sick, yet they lament no man's death, except
they see him loath to part with life. They think that such
a man's appearance before God cannot be acceptable to
Him who being called on does not go out cheerfully, but is
backward and unwilling, and is, as it were, dragged to it.
They are struck with horror when they see any die in this
manner, and carry them out in silence and with sorrow, and
praying God that He would be merciful to the errors of the
departed soul, they lay the body in the ground ; b.ut when
any die cheerfully and full of hope they do not mourn for
them, but sing hymns when they carry out their bodies,

6 INTRODUCTORY.

commending their souls very earnestly to ( ;<>d.' 1'
say that this is Utopian in the modern sense of the word,
that is to j-ay, chimerical or impossible. '1 hc.se were the
thoughts and feelings that guided the whole life of }\.
Thomas More. There is, however, a satirical force in
them : that men who had but the light of Nature should
welcome their appearance before God, while Christians, to
whom is promised the Beatific Vision, should shrink from
it, defer it as long as possible, and speak with hated breath
of the " poor " souls who have gone to enjoy it !

Let me point to another pageant, that of the Circa f
Statesman. In his boyish verses Blessed Thomas had de
scribed the elderly man : —

With locks thin and hoar,

Wise and discreet, the public weal therefore

He helps to rule.

He himself arrived at this stage, a knight, a privy coun
cillor, the king's secretary, orator on great occasions, trea
surer of the exchequer, negotiator of treaties, ambassador to
the imperial court, personal attendant on the king in his
pomps and splendours. Had all these things dax/led him ?
Not in the least. In the year 1522, when he was forty-four
years old, he sat down to write a book on The /-'<>i'r Last
Things, that is, Death, Judgment, Heaven and Hell. We
see in this book with what thoughts he kept his heart
humble. He is but an actor in a gay coat on the stage of
life, which he must soon quit. He is a condemned male
factor already in the cart that will carry him to the gallows.
The road may be long or short, but the sentence is ir
ably passed, and to the place of execution he must surely
come. Some will exclaim that this is a gloomy view of life.

INTRODUCTORY. 7

Well, More calls it " homely ". It is a true one as regards
this world, and enough to make any man sober who enter
tains it. Yet in the depths of his heart Blessed Thomas
was travelling, not to the gallows, but to the door of Para
dise, though he could only enter it by death. Erasmus,
writing of More at this very time of his public life, says that
among his intimate friends he would often speak of the next
life in such a way that they knew it was to him the great
reality, and that he nourished optima spes, the most excellent
and assured hope, of its attainment.

Let me here anticipate a difficulty. Do not such views
rob human life of all interest and make the heart cold ? If
a man is thoroughly persuaded that all good is in eternity,
surely he will not only desire his own death, but the death
of all whom he loves, at least if he thinks them prepared for
eternity. I would answer such reasoning not by reasoning,
but by experience. Was Blessed Thomas More a gloomy,
a cold, or a listless man ? Was he incompetent or careless
in worldly affairs ? He seems to have been raised up for
the very purpose of teaching us that true piety and true
Christian hope have nothing in common with sadness or
imbecility. This man, whose heart was in the next world,
was merry and brilliant in his conversation and his writings,
a deep student, and an accomplished statesman. As regards
his affections and his thoughts about the death of others, let
one fact speak. When his favourite daughter, Margaret,
was struck down by a terrible disease, and given up by the
physicians, at the very point of death, as it seemed, the
father went with his riven heart into his oratory, and there
prayed so fervently that she might be spared a little longer
that, when she quite suddenly recovered, all the bystanders

S INTRODUCTORY.

attributed 11 to the efficacy of his prayers. Some in
inconsistency in this. But we find the same inconsi-
in St. Paul. In his Epistle to the Philippians he tells us
how " he desired to he dissolved and to be with Christ,"
and how to him " to live was Christ, but to die wa> gain ".
Yet in the same epistle we find that when a holy disciple of
his, the Bishop Epaphroditus, was "sick nigh unto death,"
St. Paul prayed most earnestly for his recovery, and made
others pray, and when Epaphroditus was restored to health
the apostle says : " God had mercy upon him, and net on
him only, but on me also, lest I should have sorrow upon
sorrow ". No, it is not the will of God that we should 1 >e
heartless, nor is it the will of God that, until His will is re
vealed, we should be indifferent to our loved ones' life or
death, nor that even when they have gone to their reward
we should be unmoved at our own loss, although we lejoice
for their sake. Did not our Divine Lord Himself shed
tears over the grave of Lazarus, His beloved Lazarus ?
Blessed Thomas More told Margaret that had it then
pleased God to take her away he had made up his mind to
have nothing more to do with public life, but would have
given himself entirely to preparation for his own death.

From his childhood he had kept himself in readiness tor
that call ; he had awaited it in his merry boyhood, in his
innocent yet active youth, in his busy and prosperous man
hood. He had meditated on death and eternity in the
schools of the university, in his beautiful home, in the
tribunals of the law, in the courts of princes : " As the hart
panteth after the fountains of water, so my soul panteth after
Thee, O God ; my soul hath thirsted after the strong living
God ; when, when shall I come and appear before the face of

INTRODUCTORY. 9

God ? " His life had been a very happy one : he had never
sought wealth and honours, yet they had come to him, and
in the midst of wealth and honours he had practised true
religion, as described by St. James : " Visiting the fatherless
and the widows in their affliction and keeping himself un
spotted from the world ". In one of his early poems on
Fortune, taking the well-known image of a woman turning
a great wheel to which her clients cling, he had used these
words : —

She suddenly enhanceth them aloft,
And suddenly mischieveth all the flock ;
The head that late lay easily and full soft
Instead of pillows lieth after on the block.

If to Blessed More's angel guardian was then revealed the
future death by which his charge should glorify God, he
must have bent with loving veneration over that terrible but
glorious word — the block. Frequently had More awaited
death calmly when multitudes were dying around him of the
sweating sickness ; but he was not to die amidst the multi
tude. For our instruction he was to be our teacher of
detachment and Christian hope in the dungeon of the
Tower and on the scaffold of Tower Hill. Who has ever
read unmoved how, when his writing materials, with which
he had composed his beautiful book called Dialogue of
Comfort against Tribulation, were taken from him, he closed
the shutters of his cell, saying, with a smile : " The goods
are gone, the shop may be shut," and there remained in
prayer and meditation, caring nothing for the light of day
because the light of eternity was already flooding his soul ?
He never laid himself down to sleep, after the labours of a
well-spent day, more calmly than he stretched himself on the

10 INTRODUCTORY.

scaffold to await the axe of the executioner. I Jut what is it
we so much admire in this death ? Many a man before and
since has met death bravely. Not only in the e.vitement
of a field of battle, or the enthusiasm of a rescue from a fire,
but calmly in the execution of duty : as when the captain
stands erect upon the sinking ship while he sees the last
boat depart with the women and children, sustained by the
sense of a duty nobly discharged to the end. All admira
tion to such deaths ! All honour to such men ! But it is
not mere physical or moral courage we honour in the death
of Blessed Thomas More. It is that his death was willing
though not wilful. One word of compliance and he would
have been carried from the Tower to the palace of the king
triumphantly. Little shame would have been his, for all
his former associates had yielded. But he could not yield
without doing wrong to his conscience and his God, though
his fidelity brought his family to penury and cost his own
life. But besides this, we honour the death of Blessed
Thomas More for special reasons. All the martyrs have
accepted death to be faithful to their God, but not all have
desired death ; at least they have not desired it throughout
their life. To him death was the goal of life, to him it was
the gate of eternity, to him eternity had been ever the
only reality, the only hope .that makes life worth living.
Pleasure, literary fame, wealth, the smiles of princes, had
only proved to him how little, how mean, how worthless
are all the goods this life can offer ; and his soul thirsted
for the strong God from the midst of weakness, for the
living God from the midst of death. Such was the wisdom
that guided the life of More. We may therefore listen to
him with confidence discoursing on such subjects. Ik-

INTRODUCTORY. II

carried out consistently what he had written in his early
manhood : —

Why lovest thou so this brittle worldes joy ?
Take all the mirth, take all the phantasies,
Take every game, take every wanton toy,
Take every sport that men can thee devise,
And among them all, on warrantise,
Thou shalt no pleasure comparable find
To th' inward gladness of a virtuous mind.

So should the lover of God esteem that he
Which all the pleasure hath, mirth and disport
That in this world is possible to be,
Yet till the time that he may once resort
Unto that blessed, joyful, heavenly port,
Where he of God may have the glorious sight,
Is void of perfect joy and sure delight.1

II. HIS WIT.

In the time of Sir Thomas More the words wit and wisdom
had almost or altogether the same meaning, yet the quality
that we now designate by wit was ever distinct from wisdom,
though by no means opposed to it. Wisdom and wit are
like heat and light. In addition to knowledge, wit supposes
a play of the imagination or the fancy, a faculty of detecting
hidden congruities or incongruities, and of bringing images
or ideas together in such a way as to cause both surprise
and pleasure to the hearer or reader. I take wit here in its
generic sense, not as distinct from humour but as comprising
it. To defend the use of wit would be as absurd as to
defend the human intellect and the cultivation of its

1 Development by More of two of the maxims of Pico della Miran-
dola.

INTRODUCTORY.

faculties. To apologise for the union of wit with sanctity
would be as superfluous as to apologise for the use of poetic
imagery, and exalted language by inspired prophets. Yet,

is of various kinds, it may be asked whether tl
not something at least incongruous in employing jokes and
laughter-moving sentences in serious religious controversy,
or in exciting merriment and fun in the midst of spiritual
discourses, and while treating serious or even pathetic
themes. This, nevertheless, is a characteristic of the genius
of Blessed Thomas More, and it seems to demand, not
so much defence, as explanation, lest it should be mis
understood.

In More's time, the English prided themselves on being
a merry nation, though Froissart remarks that they took
their mirth sometimes moult tristement. But merriment or
mirth as very clearly distinguished from levity or want of
seriousness. No one could condemn levity of character
more severely than did this gay and mirthful, yet most
earnest-minded writer, whose character we are considering.
The following passage will both state his serious view of life,
and serve as a specimen of his bright and witty style of
writing : —

"An evil and a perilous life live they that will in this
world not labour and work, but live either in idleness or in
idle business, driving forth all their days in gaming ' for
their pastime, as though that else their time could never
pass, but the sun would ever stand even still over their
heads and never draw to night, but if they draw away the
day with dancing or some such other goodly gaming.

1 By the context it appears that gaming here means game- < >r amuse
ments in general.

INTRODUCTORY. 13

sent men hither to wake and work ; and as for sleep and
gaming (if any gaming be good in this vale of misery, in this
time of tears), it must serve but for a refreshing of the
weary body ; for rest and recreation be but as a sauce, and
sauce should (ye wot well) serve for a faint and weak
stomach to get it the more appetite to the meat, and not for
increase its voluptuous pleasure in every greedy glutton,
that hath in himself sauce malapert enough. And there
fore, likewise as it were a fond feast that had all the table
full of sauce, and so little meat therewith, that the guests
should go thence as empty as they came thither ; so is it
surely a very mad ordered life that hath but little time
bestowed in any fruitful business, and all the substance
idly spent in play." l

It is clear from these words of Blessed Thomas that if he
indulged in any merriment, or defended its use, it had no
connection in his mind with that levity and frivolity against
which our Divine Master uttered His anathema when He
said : " Blessed are they that mourn : woe to you that now
laugh ". The blessedness is to those who mourn over sin,
the woe to those who laugh at sin or in sin, or who make
their whole life a frivolous pastime. It is not a woe
pronounced against those who laugh at what is laughable in
due season. Laughter is like anger : it may be good or bad,
according to circumstances. We must consider both the
person who laughs and the object of his laughter. Laughter
does not befit the wilful enemies of God, though it may
be sometimes skilfully and lawfully awakened in such to
lead them to a better mind. Laughter in applause of what
is wicked, vile, or impure is criminal laughter. " A fool

1 Ansu'cr to Masker, Works, 1047.

' \

will laugh the Holy Ghost Laughter at

incongruous trifles which are innocent belongs by right to
childhood and youth, yet it may have its M.MSOII even in the
life of the wisest and the saintliest : while laughter at the
errors, the vices, the foolish pretences of men, may be a
participation in that Divine sarcasm or irony which is
attributed to God. "Why have the Gentiles raged and the
people desired vain things : the kings of the earth stood up,
and the princes met together against the Lord and a_
His Christ ? He that dwelleth in heaven shall laugh at
them, and the Lord shall deride them." The spectacle of
worms of earth in revolt against their Creator, of earthly
kings contending with the King of heaven, this spectacle is
worthy of— which shall I say, laughter or tears ? Of both,
according as we regard it. It " makes the angels weep,"
said our great poet, by a bold figure. It makes God laugh,
says the Psalmist, by a still bolder figure.

I do not remember that Blessed Thomas More has
anywhere discussed in general the lawfulness or congruity
of laughter, or the moral fitness of witty terms of expr.
in writing on Divine or spiritual things. In his Din/ogue
of Comfort against Tribulation he touches slightly on the
subject, and if his tone is apologetical it befitted the
modesty of his character, and it must be remembered
that he is inquiring, not as to the lawfulness of mirth in
general in our human life, but as to the expedien-
turning to it for consolation when God is sending afflictions.
(In the following dialogue Vincent is a young nobleman,
Antony his aged, wise, and holy uncle.)

" Vincent. — And first, good Uncle, ere we proceed farther,
I will be bold to move you one thing more of that we talked

INTRODUCTORY. 15

when I was here before. For when I revolved in my mind
again the things that were concluded here by you,
methought ye would in nowise, that in any tribulation men
should seek for comfort either in worldly thing or fleshly,
which mind, Uncle, of yours, seemeth somewhat hard. For
a merry tale with a friend refresheth a man much, and
w'thout any harm lighteneth his -mind, and amendeth his
courage ; so that it seemeth but well done to take such
recieation. And Solomon saith, I trow, that men should in
heaviness give the sorry man wine to make him forget his
sorrow.1 And St. Thomas saith, that proper pleasant
talking, which is called evrpaTreAia,2 is a good virtue, serving
to refresh the mind, and make it quick and lusty to labour
and study again, where continual fatigation would make it
dull and deadly.

" Antony. — Cousin, I forgot not that point, but I longed
not much to touch it. For neither might I well utterly
forbid it, where the cause might hap to fall that it should
not hurt ; and, on the other side, if the case so should fall,
methought yet it should little need to give any man counsel
to it. Folk are prone enough to such fantasies of their own
mind. You may see this by ourselves, which 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, myself am of nature
even half a giglot 8 and more. I would I could as easily
mend my fault, as I can well know it ; but scant can I
refrain it, as old a fool as I am ; howbeit, so partial will I
not be to my fault as to praise it.

1 Proverbs xxxi. 6. - Summa. 2, 2X, q. 168, a. 2.

3 A giddy fellow, always ready to

I 'i IN i KV.

" lint for that you require my mind in the matter, \\hether
men in tribulation may not lawfully seek recreation and
comfort themselves with some honest mirth : first, ig
that our chief comfort must he in God, and that with Him
we must begin, and with Him continue, and with Him end
also : a man to take now and then some honest worldly
mirth, I dare not be so sore as utterly to forbid it, since
good men and well learned have in some caseall owed it,
specially for the diversity of divers men's minds. For else,
if we were all such as would God we were, and such as
natural wisdom would we should be, and is not all clean
excusable that we be not in deed, I would then put no
doubt, but that unto any man the most comfortable talking
that could be, were to hear of heaven : whereas now, God
help us ! our wretchedness is such, that in talking awhile
thereof, men wax almost weary, and as though to hear of
heaven were a heavy burden, they must refresh themselves
after with a foolish tale. Our affection towards heavenly
joys waxeth wonderful cold. If dread of hell were as far
gone, very few would fear God : but that yet a little stick eth
in our stomachs.

" Mark me, Cousin, at the sermon, and commonly to
wards the end, somewhat the preacher speaketh of hell and
heaven. Now, while he preacheth of the pains of hell, still
they stand yet and give him the hearing ; but as soon as he
cometh to the joys of heaven, they be busking them
backward and flock-meal fall away. It is in the soul
somewhat as it is in the body. Some are there of nature.
or of evil custom, come to that point that a worse thing
sometimes steadeth them more than a better. Some man.
if| he be sick, can away with no wholesome meat, nor no

INTRODUCTORY. 17

medicine can go down with him, but if it be tempered with
some such thing for his fantasy, as maketh the meat or the
medicine less wholesome than it should be. And yet while
it will be no better, we must let him have it so. Cassianus,
that very virtuous man, rehearseth in a certain collection of
his, that a certain holy father, in making of a sermon,
spake of heaven and heavenly things so celestially, that
much of his audience with the sweet sound thereof, began
to forget all the world, and fall asleep. Which, when the
father beheld, he dissembled their sleeping, and suddenly
said unto them, I shall tell you a merry tale. At which
word, they lifted up their heads and harkened unto that.
And after the sleep therewith broken, heard him tell on of
heaven again. In what wise that good father rebuked then
their untoward minds, so dull unto the thing that all our
life we labour for, and so quick and lusty towards other
trifles, I neither bear in mind, nor shall here need to
rehearse. But thus much of the matter sufficeth for our
purpose, that whereas you demand me whether in tribulation
men may not sometimes refresh themselves with worldly
mirth and recreation, I can no more say ; but he that
cannot long endure to hold up his head and hear talking of
heaven, except he be now and then between (as though
heaven were heaviness) refreshed 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, let us by mine advice at the leastwise make
those kinds of recreation as short and as seldom as we can.
Let them serve us but for sauce, and make them 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

ig INTK'onrt KIRV.

•u that in respect of the talking «»f the joys thereo' all
worldly recreation he hut a ijrief to think on. And In
( 'ousin, that if we might once purchase the t^rare to '-oine to
that point, we never found of worldly recreation so nuich
comfort in a year, as we should find in the bethinking us of
heaven in less than half-an-hour." *

From the above quotations, it will be seen that the
question of facetious writing is very much narrowed, \vhen
it is considered in relation to Sir Thomas More. In his
youth he loved epigrams. It was a period when the
scholars of the Renaissance were copying the obscenity no
less than the wit of their heathen models. From this vice
young More carefully abstained, though a few trifles have
been printed against his will, which he afterwards regretted.2
In his early manhood he translated three of I.urian's
dialogues, which he especially admired for their wit as well
as for their matter. He was ever fond of a joke. In 1508,
when he was thirty years old, Erasmus calls him i/i.\-t\f//i.\-
nugatflr, a famous lover of fun. His humour brightens up
his most serious controversial writings, and gives a flavour
to his ascetic treatises which few (I think) can fail to
relish.

Erasmus, who lived long in Blessed More's house,
and was his dearest friend, says that his handsome

1 Dialogue of Comfort, Works, 1171.

ou know," he says in a letter to Erasmus, "that when my
epigrams were being printed, I did all I could to suppress those that
might be personal, as well as a few that did not seem to me serious
enough : quod quajdam mihi non satis severa videbantur, etiamsi
procul absint ab ea obscoenitate, qua ferme sola quorumdam
epigrammata video commendari." (T. Man 'Lucubration, <, r> us
Ed. ,563.)

INTRODUCTORY. 1 9

seemed always ready for mirth ; but that his fun was self-
contained, not noisy, and never uncharitable, never bitter,
and never verged on scurrility or buffoonery. He describes
him as a man who could be all to all men, whose company,
whose look, whose conversation increased joy, dissipated
dulness, and soothed sorrow. Such a character cannot be
illustrated by relating a few bon mots or pleasant sayings. It
is only by reading his works that any adequate conception
can be formed of his deep wisdom and brilliant wit, his
lively fancy, his richness of illustration, his shrewdness, his
clever turns of expression, his homely, forcible words, his
light banter, or his scathing sarcasm. His life as related by
his contemporaries, and his writings, show throughout a
strange yet beautiful mixture of joyousness and seriousness,
of almost boyish fun and altogether saintly earnestness, of
gentle merriment and tender pathos, of unfaltering confi
dence in God united with awe and adoration of His majesty
and justice. We must not think of him for a moment as a
jocose man, a jester, or a punster. Now and then, indeed,
his wit will play upon words, but generally it is busied with
deeper things than external forms. All are familiar with the
quaint sayings uttered by him at the scaffold. It was these
that gave occasion to Hall, the chronicler and panegyrist of
the stupid pageantries in which Henry VIII. so delighted,
to accuse Henry's victim of buffoonery ; and some dull
historians have not known whether to admire his intrepidity
or be shocked at his levity. They must know little of his
character or of the facts of his life who speak of levity in
connection with his heroic death. Such men would doubt
less call the conduct of Elias levity, when, after his fast of
forty days, he summoned the prophets and priests of the

20

idol Baal to meet him on Mount Carmel, and mocked their
with a louder voice ; for he is a god, and
perhaps he is talking, or at an inn, or on a journey, or is
asleep and must be waked." l

Let us examine a little these levities of Blessed Thomas.
During his fifteen months' imprisonment in the Towei he
had prepared himself in prayer, and fasting, and hair-shirt
for his death. He had had— as we know from his
own testimony — many a night of agony, when he thought,
not so much of his own end as of the distress and
temporal ruin that his refusal of the oath was bringing
on his wife and children. His meditations were on
the agony of our Lord in the Garden, on which he
composed a most affecting treatise. He had fought
his battle and gained his victory. He had been strength
ened by his angel in his weakness, and at the end all weak
ness had passed away. He had committed his family to
(iod, and the summons to die was to him a glad message of
release — a call of the Bridegroom to His heavenly banquet.
He went towards the scaffold with a light heart. The ladder
was unsteady and he was weak with long sickness and im
prisonment. Turning to the lieutenant of the Tower, who
accompanied him, he said: "I pray thee see me sate up,
and for my coming down let me shift for myself". I .evity '
Say rather the elasticity of a heavenly heart, as the weary
feet began to mount the ladder of heaven. His prayer on
the scaffold was the psalm Miserere, the penitent's psilm.
When it was said, and he had spoken his few words to the
people, declaring his loyalty both to his king and hi-
he laid his head upon the block. " Wait," he said, half to
1 3 Kings xviii. 27.

INTRODUCTORY. 21

himself, half to the executioner ; " let me move aside my
beard before you strike, for that has at least committed no
treason." Levity again ! Say rather the scorn of a loyal
heart at being condemned to a traitor's death. These play
ful sayings were neither buffooneries nor jokes, but rather
fitting antiphons before and after the psalm of penitence
and hope.

But let us go back from his death to his life, and see what
use he had made of these special gifts, of his peculiar cha
racter or temperament. His wit taught him, in the first
place, to strip the mask from the world in which he mixed,
so that it neither dazzled nor seduced him ; and, in the
second place, it taught him to strip the mask from the
deadly heresies which arose in his latter days, so that they
became, under his caustic pen, as ridiculous as they were
hateful to the thousands who read his books, (i) First,
then, his wit — not alone, of course, but with prayer, and
meditation, and the grace of God — kept his soul pure from
the seductions of the world. Without any ambition he had
been forced into the life of a court, and had risen from
dignity to dignity. He was constantly in the company of
great men and of princes, in the midst of banquets and
pageantry. Wit gave him a keen insight into the essence of
things, so that pomp and pageantry amused rather than
dazzled him. One who lived with him, Richard Pace, the
king's secretary and Dean of St. Paul's, called him a Demo-
critus, a laughing philosopher. Diplomacy, treaties of peace
and commerce, war and truce, were to him the trifling of
grown-up men, not very much wiser or more serious than
the games of children. His Utopia is full of quaint irony
on these matters. His wit even helped him to make light

22 INTRODUCTO

of imprisonment. So habitually had Mle>sed Thomas looked
on this world as God's prison-house, that when h.
actually thrown into prison he could realise no chaiu
cept that the bounds of his wandering were now somewhat
narrower. Thus his wit, that is to say, his deep, subtle,
penetrating insight into human life, his amusement at its
emptiness and pretence, went along with the grace of God
to keep his heart simple, steadfast, undefiled, undeceived in
prosperity, undismayed in adversity. (2) Wit also helped
Blessed Thomas to strip the mask from heresy. In the
latter part of his life he was thrown into controversy with
the first Lutheran reformers. Some have accused him of
rudeness, and bitterness, and insolence in his manner of
conducting this controversy. But they forget the diffe
rence between his day and ours. Protestants to us are
men and women, erring indeed, yet who may be supposed
to be in good faith, since they have been brought up in
error, and are confirmed in it by inherited traditions. The)
deserve, therefore, to be treated courteously and respectfully.
Blessed More had to deal with men who were formal
heretics, apostates from the Church ; with priests, and
monks, and friars who had deserted their altars and their
cloisters, and violated their sacred vows. Yet, while they
indulged in every kind of licence and neglected every
sacred duty, and were fighting against the Holy Ghost, and
seeking by every means to destroy the work of our Lord's
Precious Blood, they made sanctimonious pretences, quoted
unceasingly Holy Scripture, and affected zeal for truth and
the glory of God. Simple souls were often deceived by
these pretences, not seeing the ravening wolf under the
sheep's clothing, dazzled (to use a metaphor of Blessed

INTRODUCTORY. 23

More) by the peacock's tail, and not noticing his ugly feet
and strident voice. Now Blessed More's shrewdness and
fineness of perception not only enabled him to see the true
character of this revolt against the Church, but to expose it.
He ruthlessly strips off the mask, sometimes with stern
indignation, sometimes with biting sarcasm, sometimes with
overpowering ridicule. His wit, humour, and power of
ridicule saved many an honest man who read his books
from becoming a victim of heresy. And let it be said, in
passing, that a little of Blessed More's sarcastic spirit is a
great help to those who are obliged to mix much with
unbelievers and misbelievers, and to hear or read their
attacks upon the Catholic Church. It is only when a child
comes to the age of reason that be begins to approach the
tribunal of penance ; when he arrives at the age of discre
tion that he is allowed to kneel at the altar. A further
advance is necessary before he can safely read anti-Catholic
literature, or mix with mocking heretics. He must have
reached the age of disdain. Now the age of reason
is seven or eight, that of discretion is ten or twelve ; how
many years must we count for the age of disdain ? It
is not a question of years : some never reach this age ;
some are always timorous, overawed by the pretences
of heretics -such can never read without danger attacks
on Catholic faith or institutions. The age of disdain is
when we get a little of the knowledge of the world, the in
sight into human character, the sarcastic spirit of Blessed
Thomas More. This spirit was left as a legacy to the
Catholics of England by the martyr-chancellor, and can be
traced through all our controversial literature, from Dr.
Haiding in the days of Elizabeth to Dr. Lingard in our

24 IN l;v-

own days.1 It has nothing to do with pride or uncharit
able-ness. It is consistent with perfect fairness towards
an adversary. Ne\ :here a fairer controversialist

than Sir Thomas More. Above all, this lofty scorn of
empty pretenders has nothing to do with hatred. Hatred
of any one is inconsistent with charity and humility :
of falsehood and impiety is simply loyal allegiance to <

\Ve have seen the uses to which Blessed Thomas put his
natural gifts and character. I^t me mention briefly the
dangers to which he was exposed by it, and how he avoided
them, (a) The first danger of a man of keen perception
and sarcastic humour is that of degenerating into a habit of
scoffing and jeering at every man's foible, of suspecting
every man's motives, distrusting all virtue, believing no
man's word, seeing unreality in every noble sentiment or
specious work, imposture in every tale of suffering. Such a
temper is often found in experienced men of the world, and
affected by those who would wish to appear men of the
world. Its motto is nil admirari — '* to be moved to
admiration by nothing and to be surprised at nothing". It
despises enthusiasm above all things. It is good form in
English society among men, and yet it is a detestable
disposition, of which not the least shadow will be found
in Blessed Thomas More. He was preserved from it by
two things especially : by humility, which made him think
little of himself, and keep his own faults and weaknesses
ever before his eyes ; and by charity, which made him look
out for good in others, by charity which " is not puffed up,
rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth with the truth". (/')

1 1 allude not to his history, but to his tracts, which an
clever and very pungent.

INTRODUCTORY. 25

The second danger to which wit is exposed is that of
frivolity, of making light of everything, always seeking out
the ridiculous side of things, even in the service and worship
of God. There is a good deal of this in certain literature of
the present day. Now, piety and reverence for Divine
things do not make men affect solemnity in look or tone of
voice. Sanctimoniousness, and cant, and religious jargon
are offensive to true piety. Blessed Thomas More could
make a playful jest about holy things without a touch of
profaneness. His faith was so robust, that it had no need
to prop itself up with mannerisms and phrases. And if
ever there was a man who took not only religious worship,
but the whole of life, as a profoundly serious matter, it was
the blessed martyr. While other men, even priests and
bishops, were making light of taking the oath exacted by
the king, Blessed Thomas watched them ''playing their
pageant," as he called it ; but rather than join them in this
pageant, he went to prison and to death. He knew that
for every idle word that a man shall speak he shall give an
account at the Day of Judgment : and this man of cheerful
mirth has left an everlasting example of earnestness in life,
of fear of God's judgments and adoration of His holiness.
Lastly, there is a word of his that explains best of all how
he understood merriment. He used constantly to speak,
when taking leave of his friends, of his hopes of being
merry with them with God in heaven. Heaven to him was
merriment, perfect truth, sincerity, innocence, joy in
congenial society, above all joy in the source of all genuine
and lasting mirth : " Enter thou into the joy of thy
Lord ".

PART THE FIRST.

ASCETIC.

ASCETIC.
DIVINE GRACE.

If any man marvel that God made all His creatures such
as they should always need aid of His grace, let Him know
that God did it out of His double goodness. First, to keep
them from pride by causing them [to] perceive their feeble
ness, [and to call upon Him ; and, secondly, to do His
creatures honour and comfort. For the creature that wise
is can never think himself in so noble condition, nor should
take so great pleasure or so much rejoice that he were made
able to do a thing well enough himself, as to remember and
consider that he hath the most excellent Majesty of God,
his Creator and Maker, evermore attendant Himself at his
elbow to help him.1

CONDITIONS OF OUR REDEMPTION.

God wist that it was nothing meet the servant to stand in
better condition than his master. And therefore would He
not suffer, that while He came to His own kingdom not
without travail and pain, His servants should be slothful and
sit and pick their nails, and be carried up to heaven at their
ease ; but biddeth every man that will be His disciple or
servant take up his cross upon his back, and therewith come
and follow Him.

And for this cause, too, though the painful Passion of
Christ, paid for all mankind, was, of the nature of the thing,

1 Treatise on the Passion, Works, 1285.
(29)

30 \\l-I.i.\l \N1) WIT.

much more than sufficient for the sins of us all, though we
nothing did but sin all our whole life, yet (lod, not willing
to fill heaven with hell-hounds, limited of His own wisdom
and goodness, after what rate and stint the commodity
thereof should be employed upon us ; and ordinarily de
vised that the merits of His pain taken for us, should make
our labour and pain taken for ourselves meritorious, which
else, had we taken for our sin never so much, and done
never so many good deeds toward the attaining of heaven,
could not have merited us a rush. And this I say ordin
arily; for by special privilege His liberal hand is yet neverthe
less at liberty to give remission of sin, and to give grace and
glory where and whensoever He list.1

CAUSE OF DULNESS OF FAITH.

Verily, if we would not only lay our ear, but also our
heart thereto, and consider that the saying of our Saviour
Christ is not a poet's fable, nor an harper's song, but the
very holy word of Almighty God Himself, we would, and
well we might, be full sore ashamed in ourselves, and full
sorry too, when we felt in our affection those words to have
in our hearts no more strength and weight, but that we re
main still of the same dull mind, as we did before we heard
them.

This manner of ours, in whose breasts the great good
counsel of God no better settleth nor taketh no better root,
may well declare us that the thorns, and the briers, and the
brambles of our worldly substance grow so thick, and spring
up so high in the ground of our hearts, that they strangle, as
the Gospel saith, the word of God that was sown therein.

1 Treatise on the Passion, Works, 1290.

ASCETIC. jl

And therefore is God very good Lord unto us, when He
causeth, like a good husbandman, His folk to come afield
(for the persecutors be His folk to this purpose) and with
their hooks and their stocking-irons grub up these wicked
weeds and bushes of our earthly substance, and carry them
quite away from us, that the word of God sown in our hearts
may have room therein, and a glade round about for the
warm sun of grace to come to it and make it grow. For
surely these words of our Saviour shall we find full true :
" Where as thy treasure is, there is also thy heart V

KNOWLEDGE OF THE SIMPLE.

The name of Housel '2 doth not only signify unto us the
blessed Body and Blood of our Lord in the sacramental
form, but also — like as this English word God signifieth unto
us not only the unity of the Godhead, but also the Trinity
of the three Persons, and not only their super-substantial
substance, but also every gracious property, as Justice,
Mercy, Truth, Almightiness, Eternity, and every good thing
more than we can imagine — so doth unto us English folk
this English word Housel, though not express yet imply, and
under a reverent, devout silence signify, both the sacramental
signs and the sacramental things, ai well the things contained
as the things holily signified, with all the secret unsearch
able mysteries of the same. All which holy things right
many persons very little learned, but yet in grace godly
minded, with heart humble and religious, not arrogant,

1 Dialogue of Comfort, Works, 1232.

- Housel, the Eucharist, the Holy Communion, etymologically,
sacrifice, victim. It was the name always used before the Reforma
tion for the Blessed Sacrament of the altar as received by the faithful.

32 WISDOM AMD WIT.

proud, and curious, under the name of holy House), with
! heavenly comfort, do full devoutly reverence. As
many a good, poor, simple, unlearned soul honoureth God full
devoutly under the name of God, that cannot yet tell such
a tale of God as some great clerks can, that are yet for lark
of like devotion, nothing near so much in (iod's grace and
favour.1

RESERVE IN TEACHING.

If I were again to read in Lincoln's Inn, and there wen-
in hand with a statute that touched treason and all other
felonies, I would not let to look, seek out, and reh
whether any heinous words spoken against the prince were,
for the only speaking, to be taken for treason or not. Nor
I would not let, in like wise, to declare, if I found out any
cases in which a man, though he took another man's hoise
against the law, should yet not be judged for a felon thereby.
And this would I not only be bold there to tell them, but
would also be bold in such French as is peculiar to the
laws of this realm, to leave it with them in writing too.

But yet would I reckon myself sore overseen, if all such
things as I would in that school speak in a " reading," I
would, in English, into every man's hand, put out abroad in
print. For there is no such necessity therein as in the
other. For in the places of court .these companies n ust
needs be taught it, out of which companies they must after
be taken that shall be made judges to judge it. But as for
the common people to be told that tale, shall (as far as I see)
do many folk little good, but rather very great harm. lor,
by perceiving that, in some things, were nothing the peril that

1 Truitist (iii the Pussion, Works, 1339.

ASCETIC. 33

they feared, some may wax therein more negligent, and by
less fearing the less danger may soon step into the more.
And therefore have I wist ere this the judges, of a great
wisdom, in great open audience, when they have had occa
sion to speak of high misprision or of treason, forbear yet
the inquiry of some such things as they would not have
letted to speak among themselves.

If any man would haply think that it were well done that
every man were taught all, and would allege therefore that
if he knew surely what would make his behaviour high
treason or heresy, then, though he would adventure all that
ever were under that, yet would he be peradventure the more
warv to keep himself well from that ; — as many a man, though
he believe he shall abide great pain in purgatory for his
venial sins, doth for all that no great diligence in forswearing
of them ; and yet, for the fear of perpetual pain in hell taketh
very great heed to keep himself from those sins that he
surely knoweth for mortal : —

As for such venial sins as folk of frailty so commonly do
fall in, that no man is almost any time without them (though
the profit would be more if men did ween they were mortal,
so that the dread thereof could make men utterly forbear
them), yet, since it will not be that men will utterly forbear
them, the knowledge of the truth is necessary for them, lest
every time that they do such a sin in deed, weening that it
were mortal, the doing of the deed, with the conscience of
a mortal sin, might make it mortal indeed.

But of any such kind of venial sin as be not so much in
custom and may be more easily forborne, I never found any
wis3 man, to my remembrance, that would either write or
teach the common people so exactly as to say : " Though you

3

WISDOM AM. WIT.

do thi: is it no deadly sin " ; but will in such things

the venial sin itself is a drawing toward the deadly)
rather leave the people in doubt and in dread of deadly sin,
and thereby cause them to keep themselves far off from it,
than, by telling them it is but a venial sin, make them the
less afeard to do it, and so come so much the nearer to
mortal sin, and essay how near he can come to it and not
do it, till he come at last so near the brink that hi-
slippeth, and down he falleth into it. For as the Scripture
sayeth, Qui amat periculum peribit in illo. " He that loveth
peril shall perish in it."1

PERSECUTION FOR IMF. F AITH.

Vincent. — I once heard a right cunning and a very good
man say, that it were great folly, and very perilous too, that
a man should think on what he would do in case of perse
cution for the faith, or imagine any such case in his mind,
for fear of double peril that may follow thereupon
either shall he be likely to answer himself to the case put by
himself, that he will rather suffer any painful death, than
forsake his faith, and by that bold appointment, should he
fall in the fault of St. Peter that of oversight made a proud
promise, and soon had a foul fall ; or else were he likely to
think that rather than abide the pain, he would forsak-
indeed, and by that mind should he sin deadly through his
own folly, whereas he needeth not, as he that shall per-
adventure never come in the peril to be put thereunto.
And that therefore it were most wisdom never to think
upon any such case.

Antony. — I believe well, Cousin, that you have heard

'ifllation of Suit-in and Bizanc,; Works, 963, 964.

ASCETIC. 35

some man that would so say. For I can show almost us
much as that left of a good man and a great solemn doctor
in writing. But yet, Cousin, although I should hap to find
one or two more, as good men and as learned too, that
would both say and write the same, yet would I not fear for
my part to counsel my friend to the contrary. . For, Cousin,
if his mind answer him, as St. Peter answered Christ, that he
will rather die than forsake Him, though he say therein more
unto himself, than he should be peradventure able to make
good, if it came to the point, yet perceive I not that he doth
in that thought any deadly displeasure unto God ; nor St.
Peter, though he said more than he did perform, yet in his
so saying offended not God greatly neither. But his offence
was, when he did not after so well, as he said before. But
now may this man be likely never to fall in the peril of
breaking that appointment, since of some ten thousand that
so shall examine themselves, never one shall fall in that
peril, and yet to have that good purpose all their life,
seemeth me no more harm the while, than a poor beggar
that hath never a penny, to think that if he had great sub
stance, he would give great alms for God's sake.

But now is all the peril, if the man answer himself, that
he would in such case rather forsake the faith of Christ with
his mouth, and keep it still in his heart, than for the con
fessing of it to endure a painful death. For by this mind
falleth he in deadly sin, which while he never cometh in the
case indeed, if he never had put himself the case he never
had fallen in. But in good faith met.hinketh that he who
upon that case put unto himself by himself, will make him
self that answer, hath the habit of faith so faint and so cold
that to the better knowledge of himself, and of his necessity

O J

\VI>|M.M \NI» \\TI.

t(» pray tor more strength be had need to have the

.11 put him, either by himself or some other man.
des this, to counsel a man never to think on the
is, in my mind, as much reason as the medicine that I have
heard taught one for the toothache, to go thrice about a
churchyard aitd never think upon a fox-tail. For if the
counsel be not given them, it cannot serve them ; and if it
be given them, it must put that point of the matter in their
mind, which by-and-by to reject, and think therein neither
one thing or other, is a thing that may be sooner bidden
than obeyed. I ween also that very few men can escape it,
but that though they would never think thereon by them
self, yet in one place or other, where they shall hap to
come in company, they shall have the question by adventure
so proposed and put forth, that like as while he heareth one
talking to him, he may well wink if he will, but he cannot
make himself sleep : so shall he, whether he will or no, think
one thing or other therein.

Finally, when Christ spake so often and so plain of the
matter that every man should upon pain of damnation
openly confess his faith, if men took him and by dread of
death would drive him to the contrary ; it seemeth me in a
manner implied therein that we be bound conditionally to
have evermore that mind, actually sometime, and evermore
habitually, that if the case so should fall, then (with *
help) so we would. And where they find in the thinking
thereon their hearts shrink in the remembrance of the pain
that their imagination represented to the mind, then must
they call to mind and remember the great pain and tor
ment that Christ suffered for them, and heartily pray for
grace that if the case should so fall, God should give them

ASCETIC. 37

strength to stand. And thus with exercise of such medi
tation, though men should never stand full out of fear of
falling, yet must they persevere in good hope and in full pur
pose of standing.

And this seemeth me, Cousin, so far forth the mind, that
every Christian man and woman must needs have, that
methinketh that every curate should often counsel all his
parishioners, and every man and woman, their servants and
their children, even beginning in their tender youth, to know
this point, and to think thereon, and little and little from
their very childhood to accustom them dulcely and pleasantly
in the meditation thereof, whereby the goodness of God shall
not fail so to aspire the grace of His Holy Spirit into their
hearts, in reward of that virtuous diligence, that through such
actual meditation, He shall confirm them in such a sure
habit of spiritual, faithful strength, that all the devils in hell,
with all the wrestling that they can make, shall never be able
to wrest it out of their heart.

Vincent. — By my troth, Uncle, methinketh you say very
well.

Antony. — I say surely, Cousin, as I think. And yet all
this have I said concerning them that dwell in such places,
as they be never like in their lives to come in the danger to
be put to the proof. Howbeit, many a man may ween
himself further therefrom, that yet may fortune by some
one chance or other, to fall in the case that either for the
truth of faith, or for the truth of justice (which go almost
alike) he may fall in the case. But now be you and I,
Cousin, and all our friends here, far in another point. For
we be so likely to fall in the experience thereof so soon, that
it had been more time for us (all other things set aside) to

38 N I>I"»M AND WIT.

upon this matter, and firmly to have settled
ourselves upon a fast point long ago, than to begin to com
mune and counsel upon it now.1

APOSTASY FROM FEAR OF DKATH.

I'inccnt.— Every man, Uncle, naturally grudgeth at pain,
and is very loath to come to it.

Antony. — That is very truth, nor no man biddeth any
man to go run into it. But that if he be taken, and may
not flee, then we say that reason plainly telleth us, that we
should rather suffer and endure the less and the shorter
here, then in hell the sorer, and so far the longer too.

Vincent. — I heard. Uncle, of late, where such a reason
was made, as you made me now, which reason seemeth
undoubted and -inevitable unto me : yet heard I lat< .
say. a man answer it thus. He said, that if a man in his
persecution should stand still in the confession of his faith,
and thereby fell into painful tormentry, he might peradven-
ture hap for the sharpness and bitterness of the pain, to
forsake the Saviour even in the midst, and die there with
his sin, and so be damned for ever ; whereas, by the
forsaking of the faith in the beginning betime, and for the
time, and yet not but in word neither, keeping it still,
nevertheless, in his heart, a man may save himself from that
painful death, and after ask mercy, and have it, and live
long, and do many good deeds, and be saved as St. 1'eter

Antony.— That man's reason, Cousin, is like a three
footed stool, so tottering on every side, that \\hn-
thereon may soon take a foul fall. For those are the three

1 Dialogue of Comfort, Works, ui.|.

ASCETIC. 39

feet of this tottering stool : fantastical fear, false faith, false
flattering hope. First, this is a fantastical fear, that the
man conceiveth that it should be perilous to stand in the
confession of the beginning, lest he might afterwards through
the bitterness of pain fall to the forsaking, and so die there
in the pain therewith out of hand, and thereby be utterly
damned : as though that, if a man by pain were overcome,
and so forsook his faith, God could not, or would not, as
well give him grace to repent again, and thereupon give him
forgiveness, as him that forsook his faith in the beginning,
and did set so little by Him, that he would rather forsake
Him than suffer for His safe any manner pain at all : as
though the more pain that a man taketh for God's sake, the
worse would God be to him. If this reason were not
unreasonable, then should our Saviour not have said, as He
did : " Fear not them that may kill the body, and after that
have nothing that can do farther". For He should by thr
reason have said : " Dread and fear them that may slay the
body ; for they may by the torment of painful death (but
if thou forsake Me betimes in the beginning and so save thy
life, and get of Me thy pardon and forgiveness after) make
thee peradventure forsake Me too late, and so be damned
for ever ". The second foot of this tottering stool is a false
faith. For it is but a feigned faith for a man to say to
God secretly that he believeth Him, trusteth Him, and
loveth Him ; and then openly, where he should to God's
honour tell the same tale, and thereby prove that he doth
so, there to God's dishonour (as much as in him is) flatter
God's enemies, and do them pleasure and worldly worship,
with the forsaking of God's faith before the world: and he
is either faithless in his heart too, or else wotteth well that

40 \VIM»< >M AND WIT.

he doth (loci this despite, even be1 For

; lie lack faith, he cannot but know that our Lord is
^nt ; and while he so shamefully lorsaketh
Him, full angrily looketh on.

The third part of this tottering sto. Haltering

hope. For since the thing that he doth, when he forsaketh
his faith for fear, is by the mouth of God (upon the Main of
eternal death) forbidden, though the goodncs-
forgiveth many folk the fault, yet to be the bolder in
offending for the hope of forgiving, is a very fal.M- pestilent
hope, wherewith a man flattereth himself toward his own
destruction. He that in a sudden braid for fear, or other
affection unadvisedly falleth, and after in labouring to rise
again, comforteth himself with hope of God's gracious
forgiveness, walketh in the ready way towards his sahation.
But he that, with the hope of God's mercy to follow, doth
encourage himself to sin, and therewith offendeth (iod first
(I have no power to shut the hand of God from giving out
His pardon where He list, nor would, if I could, but rather
help to pray therefor, but yet) I very sore fear, that such a
man may miss the grace to require it in such effectual wise,
as to have it granted. Nor I cannot suddenly now remember
any sample or promise expressed in Holy Scripture, that the
offender in such a kind shall have the grace offered after
in such wise to seek for pardon, that God hath (by His
other promises of remission promised to the penitents)
bound Himself to grant it. But this kind of presumption
under pretext of hope, seemeth rather to draw near on the
one side as despair doth on the other side, toward the
abominable sin of blasphemy against .the Holy ( ihost.
Against which sin concerning either the impossibility, or, at

ASCETIC. 41

the least, the great difficulty of forgiveness, our Saviour saith
that blasphemy against the Holy Ghost shall never be
forgiven, neither in this world nor in the world to come.

And where the man that you spake of, took in his reason
a sample of St. Peter which forsook our Saviour, and gat
forgiveness after ; let him consider again on the other side,
that he forsook Him not upon the boldness of any such
sinful trust, but was overcome and vanquished upon a sadden
fear. And yet by that forsaking St. Peter won but little.
For he did but delay his trouble for a little while, you wot
well. For beside that he repented forthwith very sore that
he so had done, and wept therefor by-and-by full bitterly,
he came forth at the Whitsuntide ensuing, and confessed
his Master again, and soon after that he was imprisoned
therefor : and not ceasing so, was thereupon scourged for
the confession of his faith, and yet after that imprisoned
again afresh ; and being from thence delivered, stinted not
to preach on still, until that after manifold labours, marvels,
and troubles, he was at Rome crucified, and with cruel
torment slain. And in likewise I ween, I might in a
manner well warrant that there shall no man (which denieth
our Saviour once, and after attaineth remission) scape
through that denying, one penny the better cheap, but that
he shall, ere he come in heaven, full surely pay therefor.

Vincent. — He shall perad venture, Uncle, work it out after
wards, in the fruitful works of penance, prayer, and alms-
deeds done in true faith, and due charity, and attain in such
wise forgiveness well enough.

Antony. — All his forgiveness goeth, Cousin, you see well,
but by perhaps. But as it may be, perhaps yea : so it may
be, perhaps nay. And where is he then? And yet you

WI-lKiM AM" \\ II.

wnt well, b\ no manner hap he shall never hap finally to
scape from death, for fear of which he forsook his faith.
/7>/<r///.--No, but he may die his natural death, and
that violent death, and then he saveth himself from
much pain, and so winneth therewith much ease. For ever
more a violent death is painful.

Antony. — Peradventure he shall not avoid a violent death
thereby. For God is without doubt displeased, and can
bring him shortly to a death as violent by some other way.
Howbeit, I see well that you reckon that whoso dieth a
natural death, dieth like a wanton even all at his ease. You
make me remember a man that was once in a galley-suttle
with us on the sea, which while the sea was sore wrought,
and the waves rose very high, and he came never on the sea
afore, and lay tossed hither and thither, the poor soul
groaned sore, and for pain he thought he would very fain be
dead, and ever he wished, Would God I were on land, that
I might die in rest ! The waves so troubled him there with
tossing him up and down, to and fro, that he thought that
trouble letted him to die, because the waves would not let
him rest : but if he might get once to land, he thought he
should then die there even at his ease.

Vincent. — Nay, Uncle, this is no doubt, but that death is
to every man painful. But yet is not the natural death so
painful as the violent.

Antony. — By my troth, Cousin, methinkcth that the death
which men call commonly natural is a violent death to ever\
man whom it fetcheth hence by force against his will, and
that is every man which, when he dieth, is loath to die.
fain would yet live longer if he might. Howbeit, how small
the pain is in the natural death, Cousin, fain would I wit

ASCETIC. 43

who hath told you. As far as I can perceive, those folk
that commonly depart of their natural death have ever one
disease and sickness or other, whereof if the pain of the
whole week or twain, in which they lie pining in their bed.
wrere gathered together into so short a time, as a man hath
his pain that dieth a violent death ; it would, I ween, make
double the pain that it is. So that he that naturally dieth,
oftener suffereth more pain than less, though he suffer it in
a longer time. And then would many a man be more loath
to suffer so long in lingering pain than with a sharper to be
sooner rid. . And yet lieth many a man more days than one
in well near as great pain continually as is the pain that with
the violent death riddeth the man in less than half-an-hour ;
except a man would ween that whereas the pain is great, to
have a knife cut his flesh in the outside from the skin
inward, the pain would be much less if the knife might on
trie inside begin, and cut from the midst outward. Some
we hear in-.their. death-beds complain that they think they
feel sharp knives cut a-two their heart-strings. Some cry out
and think they feel within the brainpan their head pricked
even full of pins. And they that lie in a pleurisy think that
every time they cough they feel a sharp sword swap them to
the heart.1

CHRIST WILL HAVE NO HALF SERVICE.
Vincent. — Yea, I may say to you, I have a motion secretly
made me farther [by the Turk], that is, to wait, not be com
pelled utterly to forsake Christ, nor all the whole Christian
faith, but only some such parts thereof as may not stand
with Mahomet's law, and only granting Mahomet for a true

1 Dialogue of Comfort, Works, 1254-1256.

\M-lH.\l AM- WIT.

|n«»l>!. rvini; the Turk truly in his wars against all

Christian k ! all not he letted to praise Christ also,

and to call Him a good man, and worship Him and
Him too.

Antony. — Nay, nay, my lord, Christ hath no
need of your lordship, as rather than to lose your scrvi« < . H . •
would fall at such covenants with you, to take your si
at halves, to serve Him and His enemy both. Ho hath
given you plain warning already by St. Paul that He will
have in your service no parting fellow. "What fellowship is
there between light and darkness, between Christ and
Belial?" And He hath also plainly showed you Himself by
His own mouth : u No man may serve two lords at once ".
He will have you believe all that He telleth you, and do all
that He biddeth you, and forbear all that He forbiddeth
you, without any manner exception. Break one of His
commandments, and break all. Forsake one point of His
faith, and forsake all, as for any thank you get for the rem
nant. And, therefore, if you devise as it were indentures
between God and you, what thing you will do for Him, and
what thing you will not do, as though He should hold Him
content with such service of yours as yourself list to appoint
Him: if you make, I say, such indentures, you shall seal
both the parts yourself, and you get thereto none agreement
of Him.1

TRUST IN GOOD WORK>.
Tindale proveth that the Pope believeth not to be saved

1 Dialogue of Comfort, Works, 1228. More adds that to deny
Christ to be God is to deny Him altogether, "for surely it He were
not God, He were no good man neither, while He plainly said He
was God". (1229, A.)

ASCETIC. 45

through Christ, because he teacheth to trust in holy works
for remission of sins and salvation.

Is not here a perilous lesson, trow ye ? namely, so taught
as the Church teacheth it, that no good work can be done
without help of God's grace ; nor no good work of man
worthy the reward of heaven, but by the liberal goodness of
God ; nor yet should have such a price set upon it save
through the merits of Christ's bitter passion, and that yet
in all our deeds we be so imperfect that each man hath
good cause to fear for his own part lest his best be bad.

I would ween that good works were not so deadly poison,
but (taking not too much at once, for dosing of the stomach,
no more at once, lo ! than I see the world wont to do),
many drams of such treacle, mixed with one scruple of
dread, were able enough, for aught I can see, to preserve
the soul from presumption, that one spoonful of good works
should no more kill the soul than a potager of good worts
kill or destroy the body.1

PRESUMPTION AND DESPAIR.

1 grant that hope dieth not always with sin, but it waxeth
by Tindale's doctrine oftentimes over great. For, by the
dreadless trust of their teaching, the man falleth into bold
ness of sin. In which, when he hath fearless long continued,
he vraxeth careless, and setteth not by sin, till suddenly the
devil, out of his high heart and hault courage, striketh him
into cowardous dread and utter desperation. For the
outrageous increase of their hope is no very right hope,
though it be a greater hope than it should be, no more than
the heat of a fever is a right natural heat, though the body^

1 Confutation of Tindalc, Works, 617,

WISDOM \.\ii \vir.

.re hot than it was in health. And, therefore, in Mich
affections the soul sometimes talleth from one contrary
quality into another, as the body in an ague rhangeth from
cold to heat, and from heat sometimes to cold again.1

Hol'l. <>1 I )i:\l H 1M-.I» Rl.i'I.N I'ANi 1 .

Remember, that into God's vineyard there goeth no man,
but he that is called thither. Now, he that in hope to be
called toward 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 shrewd rest go supperless to bed.

They tell of one that was wont alway to say, that all the
while he lived he would do what he list, for three words,
when he died, should make all safe enough. But then so
happed it, that long ere he were old, his horse once
stumbled upon a broken bridge, and as he laboured to
recover him, when he saw it woujd not be, but down into
the flood headlong needs he should : in a sudden fright 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, there
fore, let no man sin in hope of grace : for grace cometh but
at God's will, and that mind may be the let, that grace of
fruitful repenting shall never after be offered him, but that
he shall either graceless go, linger on careless, or with a < are
fruitless, fall into despair.3

RELAPSE.
Christ hath by His death paid every man's ransom, and

1 Confutation of Tindale, Works, 572.
- Dialogue of Comfort, Works, i

ASCETIC. 47

hath delivered us if we will, though many men there be that
will not take the benefit thereof. But some will needs lie
still in prison, and some will needs thither again, as no man
can keep some thieves out of Newgate ; but let them be
pardoned and their fees paid, and themselves set on
free-foot, and delivered out, yet will they there for good
company tarry loose with their fellows awhile, and, before
that next Sessions come, sit as fast there as ever they sat
before.1

REMEDY WHEN SORROW LACKETH.

Vincent. — Of truth some man cannot be sorry and heavy
for his sin, though he never so fain would. For, though he
can be content for God's sake, to forbear it from henceforth,
yet for every sin that is passed can he not only not weep,
but some [sins] were haply so wanton that when he happeth
to remember them, he can scarcely forbear to laugh. Now,
if contrition and sorrow of heart be requisite of necessity to
remission, many a man should stand, as it seemeth, in a
very perilous case.

Antony. — Many so should indeed, Cousin, and indeed,
many so do. And the old saints write very sore in this
point. Howbeit " the mercy of God is above all His
works," and He standeth bound to no common rule. E*
ipse cognovit figmentum suum> et propitiatur infirmitatibus
nostris ; " 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
of us above that thing that we may do.

But yet, Cousin, he that findeth himself in that case, in

1 Confutation of Tindale, Works, 743.

WIM.OM AM. \VII.

that he is minded to do well hereafter, let him ui\r Cud
thanks that he is no worse : but in that he cannot he M>TTV
for his sin past, let him be sorry hardily that he is no better.
And as St. Jerome biddeth him that for his sin sorroweth in
his heart, be glad and rejoice in his sorrow : so would I
counsel him that cannot be sad for his sin, to be sorry yet
at the least that he cannot be sorry.

Besides this, though I would in nowise any man should
despair, yet would I counsel such a man, while that affection
lasteth, not to be too bold of courage, but live in double-
fear. First, for 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 : either should dread
make us tremble and break our stony heart, or love should
for sorrow relent it into tears. Besides this, I can scant
believe, but since so little misliking of our old sin is an
affection not very pure and clean, and none unclean thing
shall enter into heaven ; cleansed shall it be and purified,
before that we come there. And, therefore, would I farther
advise one in that case, the counsel which M. (ierson giveth
every man, that since the body and the soul together make
the whole man, the less affliction that 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 that
so doth, I dare lay my life, shall have his hard heart after re
lent into tears, and his soul in an unwholesome heaviness
and heavenly gladness too, specially if, which must be
joined wirh every good thing, he join faithful prayer there
with.1

1 Did log iu of Comfort, Works, i ;

ASCETIC. 49

SCRUPULOSITY.

Pusillanimity bringeth forth a very timorous daughter, a
silly, wretched girl, and ever puling, that is called Scrupu
losity or a scrupulous conscience. This girl is a meetly good
puzzle in a house, never idle, but ever occupied and busy ;
but albeit she have a very gentle mistress that loveth her
well, and is well content with that she doth, or if it be not
all well (as all cannot be well always), content to pardon her
as she doth other of her fellows, and so letteth her know that
she will ; yet can this peevish girl never cease whining and
puling for fear lest her mistress be always angry with her, and
that she shall shrewdly be shent. Were her mistress, ween
you, like to be content with this condition ? Nay, surely.
I knew such one myself, whose mistress was a very wise
woman, and (which thing is in women very rare) very mild
and also meek, and liked very well such service as she did
her in the house, but this continual discomfortable fashion
of hers she so much misliked, that she would sometimes say :
" Eh : what aileth this girl ? The elvish urchin weeneth I
were a devil, I trow. Surely if she did me ten times better
service than she doth, yet with this fantastical fear of hers I
would be loath to have her in my house."

Thus fareth the scrupulous person, which 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, maketh a venial, and that that is
venial, imagineth to be deadly. And yet for all that, falleth
in them, being namely such of their own nature as no man
long liveth without. And then he feareth that he be never
full confessed, nor never full contrite, and then that his sins
4

50 WISDOM AM. WIT.

\er full forgiven him : and then he ronfesseth, and con-
i 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 is he not
satisfied, but if he say it again, and yet after that
And when he hath said one thing thrice, as little is he satis
fied with the last as with the first; and then is his heart
evermore in heaviness, unquiet, and in fear, full of doubt
and dulness, without comfort or spiritual consolation.

. . . Let them, therefore, that are in the troublous fear of their
own scrupulous conscience submit the rule of their own
conscience to the counsel of some other good man, which,
after the variety and the nature of the scruples, may temper
his advice. Yea, although a man be very well learned him
self, yet let him in this case learn the custom used among
physicians. For be one of them never so cunning. >et in
his own disease and sickness he never useth to trust all to
himself, but sendeth for such of his fellows as he knoweth
meet and putteth himself in their hands, for mam
siderations, whereof they assign the causes. And one of the
causes is fear, whereof upon some tokens he may coin vive
in his own passion a great deal more than needeth : and
then were it good for his health, that for the time he knew
no such thing at all. I knew once in this town one of the
most cunning men in that faculty, and the best expert, and
therewith the most famous too, and he that the greatest cures
did upon other men, and yet when he was himself once very
sore sick, I heard his fellows that then looked unto him, of
all which every one would, in their own disease, have used
his help before any other man, wish yet that for the time of
his own s:ckness, being so sore as it was, he had known no

ASCETIC. 5 1

physic at all, he took so great heed unto every suspicious
token, and feared so far the worst, that his fear did him
sometime much more harm than the sickness gave him
cause.

And, therefore, as I say, whoso hath such a trouble of his
scrupulous conscience, let him for a while forbear the judg
ment of himself, and follow the counsel of some other, whom
he knoweth for well learned and virtuous, and specially in
the place of confession (for there is God specially present
with His grace, assisting His holy sacrament), and let him not
doubt to acquiefhis mind, and follow that he there is
bounden, and think for a while less of the fear of God's
justice, and be more merry in the remembrance of His mercy,
and persevere in prayer for grace, and abide and dwell faith
fully in the sure hope of His help.1

MAY WE SEEK TO REMOVE CROSSES?
I think in very deed tribulation so good and profitable,
that I should haply doubt wherefore a man might labour
or pray to be delivered of it, saving that God, which teacheth
us the one, teacheth us also the other. And as He biddeth
us take our pain patiently, and exhort our neighbours to do
also the same ; so biddeth He us also not to let to do our
devoir to remove the pain from us both. And then when it
is God that teacheth both, I shall not need to break my
brain in devising wherefore He would bid us do both, the
one seeming to resist the other. If He send the scourge of
scarcity and of famine, He will we shall bear it patiently,
but yet will He that we shall eat our meajt when we can hap
to get it. If He send us the plague of pestilence, He will

1 Dialogue of Comfort, Works, 1182, 1186.

AM» UN.

that we shall patiently take it ; but yet will He that w«. k t
us blood, and lay plasters to draw it, and ripe it, and lance
it, and j;ct it away. Both these points tcacheth God in
Scripture in more than many phu es. 1 a-tiim i^ better than
eating, and more thank hath of God; and yet will C.od
that we shall eat. Praying is better than drinking, and
much more pleasant to God ; and yet will God that we
shall drink. Waking in good business is much more
acceptable to God than sleeping; and yet will (lod that we
shall sleep.

God have given us our bodies here to keep, and will that
we maintain them to do Him service with, till He send lor
us hence. Now, can we not tell surely how much tribula
tion may mar it, or peradventure hurt the soul also ?
\Vherefore the apostle, after that he had commanded the
Corinthians to deliver to the devil the abominable fornicator
that forbare not the bed of his own father's wife : yet after
that he had been awhile 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 our
selves as well as we can, He can make His plague as sore,
and as long lasting, as Himself list. And as He will that
we do for ourselves, so will He that we do for our
neighbour too : and that we shall in this world be each to
other piteous, and not sine a/ectione, for which the apostle
rebuketh them that lack their tender affections here, so that
of charity sorry should we be for their pain too, upon whom

ASCETIC.

53

(for cause necessary) we be driven ourselves to put it. And
whoso saith, that for pity of his neighbour's soul he will
have none of his body, let him be sure that (as St. John
saith, he that loveth not his neighbour whom he seeth,
loveth God but a little whom he seeth not) : so he that hath
no pity on the pain that he seeth his neighbour feel afore
him, pitieth little (whatsoever he say) the pain of his soul
that he seeth not yet.

God sendeth us also such tribulation sometime, because
His pleasure is to have us pray unto Him for help. And,
therefore, when St. Peter was in prison, the Scripture
showeth that the whole Church without intermission prayed
incessantly for him ; and that 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 God's goodness, that
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. Whereby when we learn to know
Him, and seek to Him, we take a good occasion to fall
after into farther grace.1

\\ i KNOW NOT WHAT TO ASK.
How many men attain health of body, that were better

1 Dialogue of Comfort, Works, 1160.

AND \vn.

for their souls' health their bodies were sick still : How
many get out of prison, that hap on such harm abroad us
the prison should have kept them from ! How many that
have been loth to lose their worldly goods have in keeping
of their goods soon after lost their lives ! So blind is our
mortality and so unaware what will fall, so unsure also what
manner of mind we will ourselves have to-morrow, that ( .od
could not lightly do man a more vengeance than in this
world to grant him his own foolish wishes. What wit have
we (poor fools) to wit what will serve us, when the blessed
apostle himself in his sore tribulation, praying thrice unto
God to take it away from him, was answered again \)\
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 the
tribulation from him ? And, therefore, by experience
perceiving well the truth of that lesson, he giveth us good
warning not to be bold of our own minds when we require
aught of God, nor to be precise in our asking, but refer the
choice to God at His own pleasure. For His own Holy
Spirit so sore desireth our weal, that, as men might say. 1 k
groaneth for us in such wise as no tongue can tell. " We,
what we may pray for that were behoveable for us, cannot
ourself 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 which
Himself shall best like ; and then may we take
comfort, even of our such request. For both be we sure
that this mind cometh of God, and also lie we very sure

ASCETIC. 55

that as He beginneth to work with us, so (but if ourselves
flit from Him) He will not fail to tarry with us ; and then,
He dwelling with us, what trouble can do us harm ? " If
God be with us (saith St. Paul), who can stand against
us ? " l

PRIDE.

If it be so sore a thing and so far unfitting in the sight of
God to see the sin of pride in the person of a great estate,
and that hath yet many occasions of inclination thereunto ;
how much more abominable is that peevish pride in a lewd,
unthrifty javell that hath a purse as penniless as any poor
pedlar, and hath yet a heart as high as many a mighty
prince. And if it be odious in the sight of God that a
woman beautiful indeed abuse the pride of her beauty to the
vain glory of herself; how delectable is that dainty damsel to
the devil, that standeth in her own light and taketh herself
for fair, weening herself well liked for her broad forehead,
while the young man that beholdeth her marketh more her
crooked nose.

And if it be a thing detestable for any creature to rise in
pride upon the respect and regard of personage, beauty,
strength, wit, or learning, or other such manner thing as by
nature and grace are properly their own, how much more
foolish abusion is there in that pride by which we worldly
folk look up on high, solemnly set by ourselves, with deep
disdain of other far better men, only for very vain, worldly
trifles that properly be not our own. How proud be men of
gold and silver, no part of ourself but of the earth, and of
nature no better than is the poor copper or tin, nor to man's
use so profitable as is the poor metal that maketh us the

1 Dialogue of Comfort, Works, 1147.

56 WISDOM \M> \vn.

plouglisharc and the horseshoe and horse-nails. How
proud be many men ot" these glistering stones, of which the
\vry I, though it cost thee ^20, shall never shine-

half as bright, nor show thee half so much light, as shall a
poor halfpenny candle. How proud is many a man over his
neighbour because the wool of his gown is finer, and
fine as it is, a poor sheep wore it on her back before it came
on his, and all the time she wore it, were her wool ne\
fine, yet was she, pardie ! but a sheep. And why should
he be now better than she by that wool, that, though it
be his, is yet not so verily his as it was verily hers? r,m
now, how many men are there proud of that that is not theirs
at all ! Is there no man proud of keeping another man's
gate? another man's horse? another man's hound or hawk ?
What a bragging maketh a bearward with his silver-buttoned
baudrick for pride of another man's bear !

Howbeit what speak we of other men's and our own ? I
can see nothing (the thing well weighed) that any man may
well call his own. But as men may call him a fool that
beareth himself proud because he jetteth about in a bor
rowed gown, so may we be well called very fools all, if we
bear us proud of anything that we bave here. For nothing
have we here of our own, not so much as our own !••
but have borrowed it all of God, and yield it we must
again, and send our silly soul out naked, no man can tell
how soon. . . . For all these must we depart from every
whit again, except our soul alone. And yet that must we
give God again also, or else shall we keep it still with such
sorrow, as we were better lose it.

I counsel every man and woman to beware even of the
very least spice of pride, which seemeth to be the bare

ASCETIC. 5 7

delight and liking of ourselves, for anything that either is in
us or outwardly belonging to us. Let us every man lie well
in wait of ourselves, and let us mark well when the devil first
casteth any proud, vain thought into our mind, and let us
forthwith make a cross on our breast, and bless it out by-
and-by, and cast it at his head again. For if we gladly take
in one such guest of his, he shall not fail to bring in two of
his fellows soon after, and every one worse than [the] other.
This point expresseth well the Spirit of God by the mouth
of the prophet, where he noteth the perilous progress of
proud folk, in the person of whom he saith in this wise :
Dixerunt ; Linguam nostram magnificabimns, labia nostra a
iwbis sunf, quis noster dominus est ? They have said :
" We will magnify our tongues, our lips be our own, who is
our lord?" First they begin, lo ! but as it were with a vain
delight and pride of their own eloquent speech, and say
they will set it out goodly to the show; wherein yet seemeth
little harm, save a fond foolish vanity, if they went no
farther. But the devil that bringeth them to that point
first intendeth not to suffer them to rest and remain there,
but shortly he maketh them think and say farther: Labia
•nostra a nobis sunf, " Our lips be our own, we have them of
ourselves". At what point are they now, lo ! Do they not
now the thing that God hath lent them take for their own,
and will not be aknowen that it is His? Thus become they
thieves unto God. And yet the devil will not leave them
thus neither, but carrieth them forth farther unto the very
worst point of all. For when they say once that their lips
be their own and of themselves, then against the truth that
they have their lips lent them of our Lord, their prone
hearts arise and they ask : Quis noster dominus est ? " Who

WIMKi.M AND WIT.

: lord?" And so deny that they have any lord at all.
And then, lo ! beginning but with a vain pride of their own

. they become secondly thieves unto God, and finally
from thieves they fall to be plain rebellious traitors, and
refuse to take God for their God, and fall into the detestable
pride that Lucifer fell to himself.1

AMBITION.

As for fame and glory, desired but for worldly pleasure,
it doth unto the soul inestimable harm. For that setteth
men's hearts upon high devices and desires of such things
as are immoderate and outrageous, and by the help of false
flatteries puff up a man in pride, and make a brittle man
lately made of earth, and that shall again shortly be laid
full low in earth, and there lie and rot, and turn again into
earth, take himself in the meantime for a god here upon
earth, and ween to win himself to be lord of all the earth.
This maketh battles between these great princes, and with
much trouble to much people and great effusion of blood.
one king to look to reign in five realms that cannot well rule
one. For how many hath now this great Turk, and yet
aspireth to more ? And those that he hath he ordereth
evil, and yet himself worse.

Then offices and rooms of authority, if men desire them
only for their worldly phantasies, who can look thai
they shall occupy them well, but abuse their authority, and
do thereby great hurt ? For then shall they fall from
indifferency and maintain false matters of their friends,
bear up their servants, and such as depend upon them, with

1 Treatise on the Passion, Works, 1272.

ASCETIC. 59

bearing down of other innocent folk, and not so able to do
hurt as easy to take harm.

Then the laws that are made against malefactors shall
they make, as an old philosopher said, to be much like unto
cobwebs, in which the little gnats and flies stick still and
hang fast, but the great humble bees break them and fly
quite through. And then the laws that are made as a
buckler in the defence of innocents, those shall they make
serve for a sword to cut and sore wound them with, and
therewith wound they their own souls sorer.1

AVARICE.

I remember me of a thief once cast at Newgate, that cut
a purse at the bar when he should be hanged on the morrow.
And when he was asked why he did so, knowing that he
should die so shortly, the desperate wretch said that it did
his heart good to be lord of that purse one night yet. And
in good faith, methinketh, as much as we wonder at him,
yet we see many that do much like, of whom we nothing
wonder at all. I let pass old priests that sue for vowsons
of younger priests' benefices. I let pass old men that gape
to be executors to some that be younger than themselves,
whose goods, if they would fall, they reckon would do them
good to have in their keeping yet one year ere they died.
But look if ye see not some wretch that scant can creep
for age, his head hanging in his bosom, and his body
crooked, walk pit-pat upon a pair of pattens, with the staff
in the one hand and the Paternoster2 in the other hand,
the one foot almost in the grave already, and yet never the
more haste to part with anything, nor to restore that he hath

1 Dialogue of Comfort, Works, 1226. - Rosary beads.

00 \VISI HIM A\l' WIT.

Urn. hut _rroat l>y the be^uilin^ of

his neighbour, as if he had of certainty sev< . ar to

How A RICH MAN MAY RKMAIN HI.MI.II.

Antony. — Let him think in his own heart every poor
beggar his fellow.

/ lucent. — 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.

Antony. — If here were, Cousin, two men that were
beggars both, and afterward a great rich man would take
the 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 full
of gold, but giving him this knot therewith, that within a
little while out he should in his old rags again, and bear
never a penny with him. If this beggar met his fellow now,
while his gay gown were on, might he not for all h:
gear take him for his fellow still ? And were he not a \ery
fool, if for a wealth of a few weeks he would ween himself
far his better ?

Vincent. — Yes, by my troth, Uncle, if the difference of
their state were none other.

Antony. — 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 poor they came both into this world, and
then consider farther therewith how rich soever he be now,
he shall yet within a while, peradventure less than one

1 1'unr Last Things, Works, 94.

ASCETIC. 6 1

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 this can no man think that
hath any natural wit, and well useth it.

But now a Christian man, Cousin, that hath the light of
faith, cannot fail to think in this thing much farther. For
he will think not only upon his bare coming hither, and
his bare going hence again, but also upon 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 be both departed hence, the
beggar may be suddenly set up in such royalty that well
were himself that ever he was born if he might be made
his fellow.1

BEAR NO MALICE.

Bear no malice nor evil will to no man living. For,
either that man is good or naught.2 If he be good, and I
hate him, then am I naught. If he be naught, either he
shall amend and die good and go to God, or abide naught
and die naught, and go to the devil. And then let me
remember that, if he shall be saved, he shall not fail, if I be
saved too, as I trust to be, to love me very heartily, and I
shall then in likewise love him. And why should I now,
then, hate one for this while, which shall hereafter love me
for evermore ? And why should I be now, then, enemy to
him, with whom I shall in time coming be coupled in eter
nal friendship ? Or, on the other side, if he shall continue
1 Dialogue of Comfort, Works, 1201. 2 Wicked.

\\I-IM.\I AND \\ll.

naught and he damned, then is there so outrageous <
sorrow towards him,1 that I may well think 0 Vadly

cruel wretch if I would not now rather pity his pain than
malign his person.

If one would say that we may well, with p
wish an evil man harm, lest he should do harm t<
other folk as are innocent and good, I will not now depute
upon that point, for that root hath more branches to be
well weighed and considered, than I can now conveniently
write, having none other pen than a coal.- I Jut verily thus
will I say, that I will give counsel to every good friend of
mine, but8 if he be put in such room, as to punish
an evil man lieth in his charge by reason of his office, else
leave the desire of punishing unto God, and unto such other
folk as are so grounded in charity, and so fast, cleave to
God, that no secret, shrewd, cruel affection, under the cloak
of a just and virtuous seal, can creep in and undermine
them. But let us that are no better than men of a mean
sort, ever pray for such merciful amendment in other folk, as
our own conscience showeth us that we have need in our

self.4

SLANDER OF CLASSES.

Those that be spiritual persons by profession, and are
therewith carnal and wretched in their condition, have never
been favoured by me. But I perceive well that these good
brethren look that I should rebuke the clergy and seek out

1 To come upon him.

3 This little meditation was written by the blessed martyr in the
Tower not long before his death. It shows the feelings he enter
tained towards his cruel murderer, Henry VIII.

* Unless. ^ Works, 1405.

ASCETIC. 63

their faults and lay them to their faces, and write some work
to their shame, or else they cannot call me but partial to the
priests. . . . But surely my guise is not to lay the faults of
the naughty to the charge of any whole company, and rail
upon merchants and call them usurers, nor to rail upon
franklins and call them false jurors, nor to rail upon sheriffs
and call them ravenors, nor to rail upon escheators and call
them extortioners, nor upon all officers and call them
biibers, nor upon gentlemen and call them oppressors, nor
so foolish up higher to call every degree by such odious
names as men might find some of that sort.

And of all degrees, specially for my part, I have ever
accounted my duty to forbear all such manner of un
mannerly behaviour towards those two most eminent orders
that God hath here ordained on earth, the two great orders,
I mean, of special consecrate persons, the sacred princes and
priests. Against any of which two reverend orders whoso
be so lewd unreverently to speak, and malapertly to jest and
rail, shall play that part alone for me. And rather will I
that these brethren call me partial than for such ill-fashion
indifferent.1

THE DEVIL ASSISTS EVIL COUNSELS.
Here we may well consider that when men are in device
about mischief, if they bring their purpose properly to pass
cause have they none to be proud and praise their own wits.
For the devil it is himself that bringeth their matters about,
much more a great deal than they. There was once a
young man fallen in a lewd mind toward a woman, and she
was such as he could conceive no hope to get her, and,

1 Apology, Works, 868.

64 WIMM.M ANI> WII.

therefore, was falling to a good point in his own mind to lee
that lewd enterprise pas>. He mishapped, nevcrtheK
show his mind to another wretch, which encouraged him to
go forward and leave it not. " I -or, begin thou once, man,
quoth he, " and never fear ; let the devil alone with the
remnant, he shall bring it to pass in such wise as thyself
alone cannot devise how." I trow that wretch had learned
that counsel of these priests and these ancients assembled
here together against Christ at this council. For here you
see that which they were at their wits' end how to bring
their purpose about in the taking of Christ, and were at a
point to defer the matter and put it over till some other
time, the devil sped them by-and-by. For he entered into
Judas' heart, and brought him to them to betray Him
forthwith out of hand.1

THE BARGAIN OF JUDAS.

11 What will ye give me, and I shall deliver Him to
you ? " Here shall you see Judas play the jolly merchant.
I trow. For he knoweth how fain all this great council
would be to have Him delivered. He knoweth well also
that it will be hard for any man to deliver Him but one of
His own disciples. He knoweth well also, that of all the
disciples there would none be so false a traitor to betray his
Master but himself alone. "And, therefore, is this ware.
Judas, all in thine own hand. Thou hast a monopoly
thereof. And while it is so sought for, and so sore desired.
and that by so many, and them that are also very rich, thou
mayest now make the price of thine own ware thyself.
at thine own pleasure." And, therefore, ye shall, good

1 Treatise on the Passion, Works, iy\\.

ASCETIC. 65

readers, see Judas wax now a great rich man with this one
bargain.

But now the priests and their judges were on the other
side covetous too ; and as glad as they were of this ware,
yet while it was offered them to sell they thought the
merchant was needy, and that to such a needy merchant a
little money would be welcome, and money they offered
him, but not much. For thirty groats, they said, they will
give, which amounteth not much over ten shillings of our
English money. Now would we look that the fool would
have set up his ware, namely, such ware as it was, so
precious in itself that all the money and plate in the whole
world were too little to give for it. But now what did the
fool ? To show himself a substantial merchant, and not a
huckster, he gently let them have it even at their own price.

I wot it well that of the value of the money that Judas
had all folk are not of my mind ; but whereas the text saith
triginta argenteos, some men call argenteus a coin of one
value and some of another. And some put a difference
between argenteus and denarius ; and say that denarius is
but the tenth part of argenteus. But I suppose that
argtnteus was the same silver coin which the Romans at
that time used, stamped in silver, in which they expressed
the image of the emperor's visage, and the superscription
of the emperor's name, and was in Greek called dragma,
being in weight about the eight part of an ounce. For of
such coin there are yet many remaining both of Augustus'
days and Tiberius' and of Nero too. So that if the coin
were that (for greater silver coin I nowhere find that
emperor coined at that time) then was Judas' reward the
value of ten shillings of our English money, after the old

5

66 WIMM.M \M> \vn.

usual groats used in the time of Kim; Kdward III., and
long before and lorn; after.1

It is a world to mark and consider how the false, wily
devil hath in everything that he doth for his servant
more one point of his envious property, that is to wit, to
provide (his sure purpose obtained) that they shall h.
his service for their own part as little commodity as he can,
even here in this world. For like as he gave here unto
Judas no more advantage of his heinous treason but only
this poor ten shillings, whereas if his Master Christ had
lived, and he still carried His purse, there is no doubt but
that he should at sundry times have stolen out for his part
far above five times that, so tareth he with all his other
servants. Look for whom he doth most in any kind of
filthy, fleshly delight, or false, wily winning, or wretched,
worldly worship, let him that attaineth it in his unhappy
service make his reckoning in the end of all that part, and
count well what is come in and what he has payed, that is
to wit, lay all his pleasures and his displeasures together,
and I dare say he shall find in the end that he had been
a great winner if he had never had any of them botl
much grief shall he find himself to have felt far above all
his pleasure, even in those days in which his fantasies were
in their flowers and prospered, besides the pain and
heaviness of heart that now in the end grudgeth and
grieveth his conscience, when the time of his pleasure is
passed, and the fear of hell followeth at hand.2

MUTABILITY OF FAMII.M-.
Antony. — Oh ! Cousin Vincent, if the whole world were

1 Sir Thomas was an eager collector of ancient coins.
a Treatise on the Passion, Works, 1303.

ASCETIC. 67

animated with a reasonable soul, as Plato had weened it
were, and that it had wit and understanding to mark and
perceive all thing : Lord God ! how the ground, on which a
prince buildeth his palace, would loud laugh his lord to
scorn when he saw him proud of his possession, and heard
him boast himself that he and his blood are for ever the
very lords and owners of that land ! For then would the
ground think the while in himself: " Oh, thou silly, poor soul,
that weenest thou wert half a god, and art amid thy glory
but a man in a gay gown : I that am the ground here, over
whom thou art so proud, have had an hundred such owners
of me as thou callest thyself, more than ever thou hast heard
the names of. And some of them that proudly went over
my head lie now low in my belly, and my side lieth over
them : and many one shall, as thou doest now, call himself
mine owner after thee, that neither shall be sib to thy blood,
nor any word bear of thy name." Who owned your castle,
Cousin, three thousand years ago ?

Vincent. — Three thousand, Uncle ! Nay, nay, in any
thing Christian, or heathen, you may strike off a third part
of that well enough, and as far as I ween half of the remnant
too. In far fewer years than three thousand it may well
fortune that a poor ploughman's blood may come up to a
kingdom, and a king's right royal kin on the other side fall
down to the plough and cart : and neither that king know
that ever he came from the cart, nor that carter know that
ever he came from the crown.

Antony. — We find, Cousin Vincent, in full authentic
stories, many strange chances as marvellous as that, come
about in the compass of very few years in effect. And be
such things then in reason so greatly to be set by, that we

68 \\l>I>nM AND WIT.

should e>teem the i« eat, when we see that in the

keeping our surety is so little ? '

SHOKTNI-SS OF SINFUL PROSPERITY.

Vincent. — God is gracious, and though that men offend
him, yet He suffereth them many times to live in prosperity
long after.

Antony.— Long after? Nay by my troth, my lord, that
doth He no man. For how can that be, that He should
suffer you live in prosperity long after, when your whole life
is but short in all together, and either almost half thereof, or
more than half (you think yourself, I dare say), spent out
already before ? Can you burn out half a short candle, and
then have a long one left of the remnant? There cannot in
this world be a worse mind than a man to delight and take
comfort in any commodity that he taketh by sinful mean.
For it is very straight way. toward the taking of boldness and
courage in sin, and finally to fall into infidelity, and think
that God careth not nor regardeth not what things men do
here, nor what mind we be of. But, unto such minded
folk speaketh Holy Scripture in this wise : " Say not I have
sinned, and yet hath happed me no harm : for God
suffereth before He strike ". But, as St. Austin saith, the
longer that He tarrieth ere He strike, the sorer is the stroke
when He striketh. And, therefore, if ye will well do, reckon
yourself very sure, that when you deadly displease God for
the getting or the keeping of your goods, God shall not
suffer those goods to dp you good, but either shall He take
them shortly from you, or suffer you to keep them for a
little while to your more harm : and after shall I Ie, when you

ml Dialogue of Comfort, Works, 1219.

ASCETIC. 69

least look therefor, take you away from them. And then
what a heap of heaviness will there enter into your heart,
when you shall see that you shall so suddenly go from your
goods and leave them here in the earth in one place, and
that your body shall be put in the earth in another place :
and (which then shall be most heaviness of all) when you
shall fear (and not without great cause) that your soul shall
first forthwith, and after that (at the final judgment) your
body too, be driven down deep toward the centre of the
earth into the fiery pit and dungeon of the devil of hell,
there to tarry in torment world without end. What goods
of this world can any man imagine, whereof the pleasure and
commodity could be such in a thousand year, as were able
to recompense that intolerable pain that there is to be
suffered in one year, yea, or one day or one hour either ?
And then what a madness is it, for the poor pleasure of your
worldly goods of so few years, to cast yourself both body
and soul into the everlasting fire of hell.1

DISCOMFORTS OF GREAT MEN.

Goeth all things evermore [with great men] as every one
of them would have it ? That were as hard as to please all
the people at once with one weather, while in one house the
husband would have fair weather for his corn, and his wife
would have rain for her leeks. So while they that are in
authority be not all evermore of one mind, but sometime
variance among them, either for the respect of profit, or for
contention of rule, or for maintenance of matters, sundry
parts for their sundry friends : it cannot be that both the
parties can have their own mind, nor often are they content

1 Dialogue of Comfort, Works, 1231.

•jo \VI>I.OM AM. \vu.

which see their conclusion quail, but ten times they take the
• their mind more displeasantly than other poor
men do. And this goeth not only to men of mean autho
rity, but unto the very greatest. The princes then,
cannot have, you wot well, all their will. For how \\
po>>ible, while each of them almost would, if he might, be
lord over all the remnant? Then many men under their
princes in authority are in the case, that privy malice and
envy many bear them in heart, that falsely speak them fair,
and praise them with their mouths, which when their hap-
peth any great fall unto them, bawl, and bark, and bite upon
them like dogs.

Finally, the cost and charge, the danger and peril of war,
wherein their part is more than a poor man's is, since the
matter more dependeth upon them, and many a poor
ploughman may sit still by the fire, while they must rise and
walk. And sometime their authority falleth by change of
their master's mind: and of that see we daily in one place
or other ensamples such, and so many, that the parable of
the philosopher can lack no testimony, which likened the
servants of great princes unto the counters with which men
do cast account. For like as that counter that standeth
sometime for a farthing, is suddenly set up and standeth for
a thousand pound, and after as soon set down, and eft>oon
beneath to stand for a farthing again: so fareth it, lo !
sometime with those that seek the way to rise and grow up
in authority, by the favour of great princes, that as they rise-
up high, so fall they down again as low.

Howbeit, though a man escape all such adventures, and
abide in great authority till he die, yet then at the le.

man must leave at the last : and that \\hich we call at

ASCETIC. 71

last, hath no very long time to it. Let a man reckon his
years that are passed of his age, ere ever he can get up
aloft ; and let him when he hath it first in his fist, reckon
how long he shall be like to live after, and I ween, that then
the most part shall have little cause to rejoice, they shall see
the time likely to be so short that their honour and autho
rity by nature shall endure, beside the manifold chances
whereby they may lose it more soon. And then when they
see that they must needs leave it, the thing which they did
much more set their heart upon, than ever they had reason
able cause : what sorrow they take therefor, that shall I not
need to tell you.

And thus it seemeth unto me, Cousin, in good faith, that
sith in the having the profit is not great, and the displeasures
neither small nor few, and of the losing so many sundry
chances, and that by no mean a man can keep it long, and
that to part therefrom is such a painful grief : I can see no
very great cause, for which, as an high worldly commodity,
men should greatly desire it.1

DEATH WATCHES KINGS.

\\ e well know that there is no king so great, but that all
the while he walketh here, walk he never so loose, ride he
with never so strong an army for his defence, yet himself is
very sure (though he seek in the mean season some other
pastime to put it out of -his mind) — yet is he very sure, I
say, that scape can he not ; and very well he knoweth that
he hath already sentence given upon him to die, and that
verily die he shall, and that himself (though he hope upon
long respite of his execution), yet can he not tell how soon.

1 Dialogue of Comfort, Works, 1225.

72 WISIH.M AM. WIT.

And therefore, but if he be a fool, he can never IK- without
fear, that either on the morrow, or on the selfsame day, the
grisly, cruel hangman, Death, which, from his first coming
in, hath ever hoved aloof, and looked toward him, and ever
lain in await on him, shall amid all his royalty, and all his
main strength, neither kneel before him, nor make him any
reverence, nor with any good manner desire him to come
forth; but rigorously and fiercely gripe him by t)v
breast, and make all his bones rattle, and so by 1 .>ng and
divers sore torments, strike him stark dead, and then cause
his body to be cast into the ground in a foul pit, there to
rot and be eaten with the wretched worms of the earth,
sending yet his soul out farther unto a more fearful judg
ment, whereof at his temporal death his succt

uncertain.1

UNWILLINGNESS TO DIE.

Some are there, I say also, that are loath to die for lack
of wit, which albeit that they believe the world that is to
come, and hope also to come thither, yet they love so much
the wealth of this world, and such things as delight them
therein, that they would fain keep them as long as ever they
might, even with tooth and nail. And when they may be
suffered in no wise to keep it no longer, but that death
taketh them therefrom ; then if it may be no better, they will
agree to be (as soon as they be hence) hanced up unto
heaven, and be with God by-and-hy. These folk are as
very idiot fools, as he that had kept from his childhood a
bag full of cherrystones, and cast such a phantasy th
that he would not go from it for a bigger bag filled full of
gold.8

1 Dialogue of Comfort, Works, \2.\\.
- Ibid., Works, 1250.

ASCETIC. 73

DESIRE OF DEATH.

Of him that is loth to leave this wretched world, mine
heart is much in fear lest he die not well. Hard it is for
him to be welcome that cometh against his will, that saith
to God when he cometh to Him: "Welcome my Maker,
maugre 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, all were it so, that he should come ere he were
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 ;
keep it while we may, because God hath so commanded, but
if God give the occasion that with His good will we may go,
let us be glad thereof and long to go to Him.1

[Sn a letter to Dr. Wilson, More wrote as folloivs : — ]
I have, since I came to the Tower, looked once or twice
to have given up the ghost ere this ; and in good faith my
heart waxed the lighter with hope thereof. Yet forget I not
that I have a long reckoning and a great to give account of.
11 ut I put my trust in God, and in the merits of His bitter
passion, and I beseech Him to give me and keep me the
mind to look to be out of this world and to be with Him.
For I can never but trust that whoso long to be with Him
shall be welcome to Him ; and, on the other side, my mind
giveth me verily that any that ever shall come to Him shall full
heartily wish to be with Him ere ever he shall come at Him.2

1 Dialogue of Comfort, Works, 1168.

'-' Works, 1443. This was written in 1535, the year of More's mar
tyrdom ; but as far back as 1515 he had written in his Utopia :
" Though they are compassionate to all that are sick, yet they lament

74 \VIMMi.M AND WIT.

1 )i SIRE Ol I Ii A\ I.N.

Howbeit, it" w«.- would soim.-wha' by the filthy

voluptuous appetites of the flesh, and would by withdrawing
from them, with help of prayer through the grace of C-od,
draw nearer to the secret inward pleasure of the spirit, we
should, by the little sipping that our hearts should have-
here now, and that sudden taste thereof, have such an
estimation of the incomparable and uncQgitable joy, that
we shall have (if we will) in heaven by the very full draught
thereof, whereof it is written : "I shall be satiate, satisfied,
or fulfilled, when Thy glory, good Lord, shall appear,' that
is to wit, with the fruition of the sight of God's glorious
majesty face to face ; that the desire, expectation, and
heavenly hope thereof shall more encourage us, and make
us strong to suffer and sustain for the lo\ i and

salvation of our soul, than ever we could be moved to suffer
here worldly pain by the terrible dread of all the horrible
pains that damned wretches have in hell.

And, therefore, let us all that cannot now « onceive such
delight in the consideration of them as we should, have
often in our eyes by reading, often in our ears by hear
ing, often in our mouths by rehearsing, often in our hearts

no man's death, except they see him loath to part with life. They
think that such a man's appearance before God cannot be acceptable
to Him, who, being called on, does not go out cheerfully, but is hack-
ward and unwilling, and is as it were dragged to it. They an. struck
with horror when they see any die in this manner, zrnd carry them out
in silence and with sorrow, and praying God that He would be merci
ful to the errors of the departed soul, they lay the body in the ground ;
but when any die cheerfully and full of hope, they do not mourn for
them, but sing hymns when they carry out their bodies, commending
thc:: earnestly to God." (Burnet's translation.)

ASCETIC. 75

by meditation and thinking, those joyful words of Holy
Scripture, by which we learn how wonderful huge and great
those spiritual heavenly joys are of which our carnal hearts
have so feeble and so faint a feeling, and our dull worldly
wits so little able to conceive so much as a shadow of the
right imagination. A shadow I say : for as for the thing as
it is, that cannot only no fleshly carnal phantasy conceive,
but over that, no spiritual, ghostly person (peradventure)
neither, that here is living still in this world. For since the
very substance essential of all the celestial joys standeth in
blessed beholding of the glorious Godhead face to face,
there may no man presume or look to attain it in this life.1

APPEAL OF THE HOLY SOULS.

The comfort that we have here (in purgatory), except our
continual hope in our Lord God, cometh at seasons from
our Lady, with such glorious saints as either ourselves with
our own devotion while we lived, or ye with yours for us
since our decease and departing have made intercessors for
us. And, among others, right especially be we beholden to
the blessed spirits our own proper good angels ; whom
when we behold coming with comfort to us, albeit that we
take great pleasure and greatly rejoice therein, yet it is not
without much confusion and shamefastness, to consider how
little we regarded our good angels, and how seldom we
thought upon them while we lived. They carry up your
prayers to God and good saints for us, and they bring down
from them the comfort and consolation to us, with which,
when they come and comfort us, only God and we know
what joy it is to our hearts and how heartily we pray for

1 Dialogue of Comfort, Works, 1258-1259.

76 WI-I.OM AND \vrr.

you. And. therefore, if God accept the prayer after His
own favour borne towards him that prayeth, and the
affection that he prayeth with, our prayer must needs be
profitable : for we stand sure of His grace, and our prayer
is for you so fervent, that ye can nowhere find any such
affection upon earth.

And, therefore, since we lie so sore in pains, and have in
our great necessity so great need of your help, and that
ye may so well do it, whereby also shall rebound upon
yourselves an inestimable profit, let never any slothful
oblivion erase us out of your remembrance, or malicious
enemy of ours cause you to be careless of us, or any ,u
mind upon your goods withdraw your gracious alms from
us. Think how soon ye shall come hither to us ; think
what great grief and rebuke would then your unkindness be
to you; what comfort, on the contrary part, when all we
shall thank you, and what help ye shall have here of your
goods sent hither.

Remember what kin ye and we be together ; what
familiar friendship hath ere this been between us : what
sweet words ye have spoken, and what promise ye have
made us. Let now your words appear, and your fair
promise be kept. Now, dear friends, remember how nauire
and Christendom bindeth you to remember us. It any
point of your old favour, any piece of your old love, any
kindness of kindred, any care of acquaintance, any favour
of old friendship, any spark of charity, any tender point of
pity, any regard of nature, any respect of Christendom, be
left in your breasts, let never the malice of a few ibnd
fellows, a few pestilent persons borne towards the priesthood,
m and your Christian faith, erase out of your hearts

ASCETIC. 7 7

the care of your kindred, all force of your old friends, and
all remembrance of all Christian souls.

Remember our thirst while ye sit and drink, our hunger
while ye be feasting, our restless watch while ye be sleeping,
our sore and grievous pain while ye be playing, our hot,
burning fire while ye be in pleasure and sporting. So mote
God make your offspring after remember you ; so God
keep you hence, or not long here, but bring you shortly to-
that bliss to which, for our Lord's love, help you to bring
us, and we shall set hand to help you thither to us.1

EXILE.

/ 'incent. — Methinketh, Uncle, that captivity is a marvel
lous heavy thing, namely, when they shall, as they most
commonly do, carry us far from home into a strange,
uncouth land.

Antony. — I cannot say nay, but that some grief it is,
Cousin, indeed. But yet as unto me not half so much as
it would be, if they could carry me out into any such
unknown country, that God could not wit where, nor find
the mean how to come at me. But in good faith, Cousin,
now, if my transmigration into a strange country should be
any great grief unto me, the fault should be much in myself.
For since I am very sure that whithersoever men convey
me, God is no more verily here than He shall be there : if
I get (as I may, if I will) the grace to set my whole heart
on Him, and long for nothing but Him, it can then make
no great matter to my mind, whether they carry me hence
or leave me here. And then' if I find my mind much
offended therewith, that I am not still here in mine own

1 Supplication of Souls, Works, 338.

78 \VI>IniM \M) WI'l.

country. I mils' r that the cause of my |

own wrong imagination, whereby I beguile myself with an

untrue persuasion, weening that this were mine own
country, whereas of truth it is not so. For as Si. Paul
saith : " \\'e have here no city nor dwelling country at all,
but we look for one that we shall come to ". And in what
country soever we walk in this world we he hut as p
and wayfaring men. And if I should take any country for
my own, it must be that country to which I come, and not
the country from which I came. That country that shall be
to me then for a while so strange shall yet, pan lie, he no
more strange to me, nor longer strange to me neither than
was mine own native country when I came first into it.1

THIS WORLD A PRISON.

And hereof it cometh, that by reason of this favour for a
time we wax, as I said, so wanton, that we forget where we
be ; weening that we were lords at large, whereas we be,
indeed (if we would well consider it), even silly, poor
wretches in prison. For, of truth, our very prison this
earth is : and yet thereof we cant us out (partly by
covenants that we make among us, and part by fraud, and
part by violence too) divers parts diversely to our self, and
change the name thereof from the odious name of prison
and call it our own land and livelihood. Upon our prison
we build, our prison we garnish with gold, and make it
glorious. In this prison they buy and sell, in this prison
they brawl and chide, in this prison they run together and
fight ; in this they dice, in t"his they card, in this they pipe
and revel, in this they sing and dance. And in this prison

1 Dialogue of Comfort, Works, 1237.

ASCETIC. 79

many a man reputed right honest letteth* not for his
pleasure in the dark privily to play the knave. And thus
while God the king, and our chief jailor too, suffereth us
and letteth us alone, we ween ourself at liberty, and we
abhor the state of those whom we call prisoners, taking
ourselves for no prisoners at all.

In which false persuasion of wealth, and forgetfulness of
our own wretched state (which is but a wandering about for
a while in this prison of the world till we be brought unto
the execution of death), while we forget with our folly both
ourself and our jail, and our under-jailors, angels and devils
both, and our chief jailor God too — God that forgetteth not
us, but seeth us all the while well enough, and being sore
discontent to see so shrewd rule kept in the jail (besides
that He sendeth the hangman Death to put to execution
here and there, sometimes by the thousands at once), He
handleth many of the remnant, whose execution He for-
beareth yet unto a further time, even as hardly, and
punisheth them as sore in this common prison of the
world as there are any handled in those special prisons,
which for the hard handling used (you say) therein your
heart hath in such horror, and so sore abhorreth.1

PRISONB:RS.

[Written in Prison.]

In prison was Joseph while his brethren were at large,
and yet after were his brethren fain to seek upon him for
bread. In prison was Daniel, and the wild lions about him :
and yet even there God kept him harmless, and brought
him safe out again. If we think that He will not do the

1 Dialogue of Comfort, Works, 1245.

80 \VI-[H>M AM) \\ I 1.

like for us, let us not doubt hut He will do for us either the
like or better. For better may He do for us if He suffer us
there to die.

St. John the Baptist was ye wot well, in prison, while
Herod and Herodias sat full merry at the feast, and tin-
daughter of Herodias delighted them with her dancing, till
with her dancing she danced off St. John's head And now
sitteth he with great feast in heaven at God's board, while
Herod and Herodias full heavily sit in hell burning both
twain, and to make them sport withal the devil with the
damsel dance in the fire afore them. Finally, Cousin, to-
finish this piece with, our Saviour was Himself taken prisoner
for our sake, and prisoner was He carried, and prisoner was
He kept, and prisoner was He brought forth before Annas ;
and prisoner from Annas carried unto Caiaphas. Then
prisoner was He carried from Caiaphas unto Pilate, and
prisoner was He sent from Pilate to King Herod : prisoner
from Herod unto Pilate again. And so kept as prisoner to
the end of His passion. The time of His imprisonment. 1
grant well, was not long ; but as for hard handling (which
our hearts most abhor), He had as much in that short while
as many men among them all in much longer time. And
surely then, if we consider of what estate He was, and
therewith that He was prisoner in such wise for our sake,
we shall, I trow (but if we be worse than wretched IK.
never so shamefully play the unkind cowards as for fear of
imprisonment sinfully to forsake Him ; nor so foolish
neither as by forsaking of Him to give Him the oc< .
again to forsake us, and with the avoiding of an <

i fall into a worse ; and, instead of a prison that cannot
keep us long, fall into that prison out of which we can never

ASCETIC. 8l

come, whereas the short imprisonment would win us
everlasting liberty.1

SHAME ENDURED FOR GOD.

Antony. — Now, if it so were, Cousin, that you should be
brought through the broad high street of a great long city,
and that all along the way that you were going there were
on the one side of the way a rabble of ragged beggars and
madmen that would despise you and dispraise you with all
the shameful names that they could call you, and all the
villanous words that they could say to you : and that there
were then, along the other side of the same street where you
should come by, a goodly company standing in a fair range,
a row of wise and worshipful folk, allowing and commending
you, more than fifteen times as many as that rabble of
ragged beggars and railing madmen are. Would you let
your way by your will, weening that you went unto your
shame for the shameful jesting and railing of those mad,
foolish wretches, or hold on your way with a good cheer
and a glad heart, thinking yourself much honoured by the
laud and approbation of that other honourable sort ?

llncent. — Nay, by my troth, Uncle, there is no doubt,
but I would much regard the commendation of those
commendable folk, and not regard of a rush the railing of
all those ribalds.

Antony. — Then, Cousin, can there no man that hath
faith account himself shamed here by any manner death
that he suffereth for the faith of Christ, while how vile and
how shameful soever it seem in the sight here of a few
worldly wretches, it is allowed and approved for very

1 Dialogue of Comfort, Works, 1248.
6

82 \\I-DoM \NI> WIT.

us and honourable in the sight of (lod and all the
glorious company of heaven, which as perfectly stand and
behold it, as those peevish people do. and are in number
more than an hundred to one : and of that hundred, every
one an hundred times more to be regarded and esteemed,
than of the other an hundred such whole rabbles. And
now, if a man would be so mad as, for fear of the rebuke
that he should have of such rebukeful beasts, he would be
ashamed to confess the faith of Christ : then with fleeing
from a shadow of shame he should fall into a very shame
and a deadly, painful shame indeed. For then hath our
Saviour made a sure promise, that He will show Himself
ashamed of that man before the Father of Heaven and all
His holy angels, saying : " He that is ashamed of Me and
My words, of him shall the Son of Man be ashamed when
He shall come in the majesty of Himself, and of His Father,
and of the holy angels ". And what manner a shameful
shame shall that be then ? If a man's cheeks glow some
times for shame in this world, they will fall on IP
shame when Christ shall show Himself ashamed of them
there.

To suffer the thing for Christ's faith, that we worldly,
wretched fools ween were villany and shame, the blessed
apostles reckoned for great glory. For they, when they
were with despite and shame scourged, and thereupon
commanded to speak no more of the name of Christ, went
their way from the council joyful and glad that (iod had
vouchsafed to do them the worship to suffer shameful despite
for the name of Jesu. And so proud were they of that
shame and villanous pain put unto them, that for all the
forbidding of that great council assembled they ceased not

ASCETIC. 83

every day to preach out the name of Jesu still, not in the
Temple only, out of which they were fet and whipped for
the same before, but also to double it with, went preaching
that name about from house to house too.

I would, since we regard so greatly the estimation of
worldly folk, we would, among many naughty things that
they use, regard also some such as are good. For it is a
manner among them in many places that some by handicraft,
some by merchandise, some by other kind of living, rise
and come forward in the world. And commonly folk are
in youth set forth to convenient masters, under whom they
be brought up and grow. But now, whensoever they find
a servant such as disdaineth to do such things as he, that is
his master, did while he was servant himself, jthat servant
every man accounteth for a proud unthrift, never like to
come to good proof. Let us, lo ! mark and consider this,
and weigh well therewithal, that our Master Christ, not the
Master only, but the Maker too of all this whole world, was
not so proud to disdain for our sakes the most villanous
and most shameful death after the worldly account that then
was used in the world, and the most despiteful mocking
therewith, joined to most grievous pain, as crowning Him
with sharp thorns that the blood ran down about His face :
then they gave Him a reed in His hand for a sceptre, and
kneeled down to Him, and saluted Him like a king in
scorn, and beat then the reed upon the sharp thorns about
His holy head. Now saith our Saviour, that the disciple or
servant is not above his master. And, therefore, since our
Master endured so many kinds of painful shame, very proud
beasts may we well think ourselves if we disdain to do as
our Master did : and whereas He through shame ascended

84 \VIMK.M AM) WII.

into glory, we would be so mad that we rather will fell into
everlasting shame, both before heaven and hell, than for fear
of a short worldly shame, to follow him into everlasting glory.1

A PATIENT I ) I:\IH.

"Then all His disciples departed from Him, and left
Him there alone." By this place, lo ! may a man perceive
how hard and painful a thing the virtue of patience is.
For many men are there very well willing even stoutly to
die, how sure soever they be thereof, so they may give
stroke for stroke, and wound for wound, thereby to have
some part of their will fulfilled. But many, where all
comfort of revenging is gone, there to take death so
patiently as neither to strike again, not for a stripe to yield
so much as an angry word, this must I needs confess to be
so sovereign a point of patience, that as yet were not the
apostles themselves so strong as to be able to climl> so
high. Who, having it fresh in their remembrance, how
boldly they had promised rather to be killed with Christ than
once to shrink from Him, did abide at the least wise so far
forth by the same, that if He would have licensed them to
fight and die manfully, they showed themselves all very
ready to have died for Him. Which thing Peter well
declared, too, in deed, by that he begun to practise upon
Malchus. But after that our Saviour would neither suffer
them again to fight nor to make any manner resistance,
then left they Him all alone, and fled away every one.2

JOY IN MARTYRDOM.
Of this am I very sure, if we had the fifteenth part of the

1 Dialogue of Comfort, Works, 1252.

'-' Treatise on the Passion, \Vork*, 1399.

ASCETIC. 85

love to Christ that He both had, and hath unto us, all the
pain of this Turk's persecution could not keep us from
Him, but that there would be at this day as many martyrs
here in Hungary as have been afore in other countries
of old.

And of this point put I no doubt, but that if the Turk
stood even here, with all his whole army about him, and
every of them all were ready at our hand with all the
terrible torments that they could imagine, and (but if we
would forsake the faith) were setting their torments to us,
and to the increase of our terror, fell all at once in a shout,
with trumpets, tabrets, and tumbrels all blown up at once,
and all their guns let go therewith, to make us a fearful
noise ; if there should suddenly then on the other side
the ground quake and rive atwain, and the devils rise out
of hell, and show themselves in such ugly shape as damned
wretches shall see them, and, with that hideous howling that
those hellhounds should screech, lay hell open on every
side round about our feet, that as we stood we should look
down into that pestilent pit, and see the swarm of souls in
the terrible torments there, we would wax so fraid of the
sight, that as for the Turk's host, we should scantly remember
we saw them. And in good faith for all that, yet think I
farther that if there might then appear the great glory of
God, the Trinity in His high marvellous majesty, our
Saviour in His glorious manhood, sitting on His throne with
His immaculate mother, and all that glorious company
calling us there unto them, and that yet our way should lie
through marvellous painful death before we could come at
them, upon the sight, I say, of that glory there would, I
ween, be no man that once would shrink thereat, but every

86 u i-i»"M

man would run'on toward them in all that evet he might.
though there lay for malice to kill us by the way, both nil
the Turk's tormentors, and all the devils too.

And, therefore, Cousin, let u> well <-<>n>ider these things
and let us have sure hope in the help of God, and then I
doubt not but that we shall be sure, that as the prophet
saith, the* truth of His promise shall so compass us with a
pavice, that of this incursion of this midday devil, this
Turk's persecution, we shall never need to fear, lor either
if we trust in God well, and prepare us therefor, the Turk
shall never meddle with us, or else, if he do, harm shall he
none do us ; but, instead of harm, inestimable good. Of
whose gracious help wherefore should we so sore now
despair, except we were so mad men as to ween that either
His power or His mercy were worn out already, when \\
so many a thousand holy martyrs by His holy help suffered
as much before, as any man shall be put to now ? Or what
excuse can we have by the tenderness of our flesh, when we
can be no more tender than were many of them, among
whom were not only men of strength but also weak women
and children ? And since the strength of them all stood in
the help of God, and that the very strongest of them all was
never able of themselves, and with God's help the feeblest
of them all was strong enough to stand against all the
world, let us prepare ourselves with prayer, with our whole
trust in His help, without any trust in our own strength ; let
us think thereon and prepare us in our minds thereto long
before ; let us therein conform our will unto His, not
desiring to be brought unto the peril of persecution (for it
seemeth a proud, high mind to desire martyrdom), but
desiring help and strength of Ciod, if He suffer us to come

ASCETIC. 87

to the stress, either being sought, found, or brought out
against our wills, or else being by His commandment (for
the comfort of our cure) bounden to abide.

Let us fall to fasting, to prayer, to almsdeed in time,
and give that unto God that may be taken from us. If
the devil put in our mind the saving of our land and
our goods, let us remember that we cannot save them long.
If he fear us with exile and fleeing from our country, let us
remember that we be born into the broad world (and not
like a tree to stick still in one place), and that whithersoever
we go God shall go with us. If he threaten us with
captivity, let us tell him again better is it to be thrall unto
man a while for the pleasure of God, than by displeasing of
God be perpetual thrall unto the devil. If he threat us
with imprisonment, let us tell him we will rather be man's
prisoners a while here on earth than by forsaking the faith
be his prisoners for ever in hell. If he put in our minds
the terror of the Turks, let us consider his false sleight
therein ; for this tale he telleth us to make us forget him.
But let us remember well, that in respect of himself the
Turk is but a shadow, nor all that they all can do, can be
but a fleabiting in comparison of the mischief that he goeth
about. The Turks are but his tormentors, for himself doth
the deed. Our Lord said in the Apocalypse : " The devil
shall send some of you to prison to tempt you ". He saith
not that men shall, but that the devil shall himself. For,
without question, the devil's own deed it is to bring us by
his temptation with fear and force thereof into eternal
damnation. And therefore saith St. Paul : " Our wrestling
is not against flesh and blood, but against the princes and
powers and ghostly enemies that be rulers of these

88 \VI-IM >.\i \M> WIT.

darknesses," etc. Thus may we sec, that in such :
cutions it is the midday devil himself that maketh
incursion upon us hy the men that are his minist.
make us fall for fear. For till we fall, he ran never hurt us.
And, therefore, saith St. James: "Stand against the devil,
and he shall flee from you ". For he never runneth upon a
man to seize on him with his claws till he see him down on
the ground willingly fallen himself. For his fashion
set his servants against us, and by them to make us tor fear
or for impatience to fall, and himself in the meanwhile
oompasseth us, running and roaring like a ramping lion
about us, looking who will fall that he then may devour him.
"Your adversary, the devil," saith St. Peter, "like a
roaring lion, runneth about in circuit, seeking whom he
may devour." The devil it is, therefore, that (if we for fear
of men will fall) is ready to run upon us and devour us.
And is it wisdom, then, so much to think upon the Turks
that we forget the devil ? What madman is he, that when
a lion were about to devour him, would vouchsafe to i
the biting of a little foisting cur ? Therefore, when he
roareth out upon us by the threats of mortal men, let us tell
him that with our inward eye we see him well enough, and
intend to stand and fight with him even hand to hand. If
he threaten us that we be too weak, let us tell him that our
captain Chrisfis with us, and that we shall fight with His
strength that hath vanquished him already, and let us fence
us with faith and comfort us with hope, and smite the devil
in the face with a firebrand of charity. For surely, if we
be of the tender, loving mind that our Master was, and not
hate them that kill us, but pity them and pray for them
with sorrow for the peril that they work unto themselves : that

ASCETIC. 89

fire of charity thrown in his face striketh the devil suddenly
so blind that he cannot see where to fasten a stroke
on us.

When we feel us too hold, remember our own feebleness.
When we feel us too faint, remember Christ's strength. In
our fear, let us remember Christ's painful agony that Him
self would (for our comfort) suffer before His passion, to
the intent that no fear should make us despair. And ever
call for His help, such as Himself list to send us, and then
need we never to doubt but that either He shall keep us
from the painful death, or shall not fail so to strength us in
it that He shall joyously bring us to heaven by it. And
then doth He much more for us than if He kept us from
it. For as God did more for poor Lazar in helping him
patiently to die for hunger at the rich man's door, than if
He had brought him to the door all the rich glutton's
dinner : so, though He be gracious to a man whom He
delivereth out of painful trouble, yet doth He much more
for a man if through right painful death He deliver him
from this wretched world into eternal bliss.1

DEATH FOR CHRIST'S LOVE.

If we could, and would, with due compassion conceive
in our minds a right imagination and remembrance of
Christ's bitter, painful passion, of the many sore bloody
strokes that the cruel tormentors, with rods and whips, gave
Him upon every part'of His holy, tender body, the scornful
crown of sharp thorns beaten down upon His holy head,
so straight and so deep, that on every part His blessed
blood issued out and streamed down His lovely limbs,

1 Dialogue of Comfort, Works, 1261.

90 \VI-lM.\i AND \V| I .

drawn and stretched out upon the cross, to the intolerable
pain of His forbeaten and sore beaten veins and sinews,
new feeling with the cruel stretching and straining
pain, far passing any cramp in every part of His
blessed body at once : then the great long nails
cruelly driven with hammers through His holy hand
feet, and in this horrible pain lift up and let hang with the
poise of all His body bearing down upon the painful
wounded places, so grievously pierced with nails, and in
such torment (without pity, but not without, many despites)
suffered to be pined and pained the space of more than
three long hours, till Himself willingly gave up unto His
Father His holy soul : after which, yet to show the
mightiness of their malice, after His holy soul departed,
they pierced His holy heart with a sharp spear, at which
issued out the holy blood and water whereof His holy
sacraments have inestimable secret strength : if we would,
I say, remember these things, I verily suppose that the
consideration of His incomparable kindness could not fail
in such wise to inflame our key-cold hearts, and set them
on fire in His love, that we should find ourselves not only
content, but also glad and desirous, to suffer death for His
sake, that so marvellous lovingly letted not to sustain so
far passing painful death for ours.

Would God we would here to the shame of our cold
affection again towards God, for such fervent love and
inestimable kindness of God towards us : would (iod we
would, I say, but consider what hot affection many of these
fleshly lovers have borne, and daily do bear to those upon
whom they doat ! How many of them have not letted to
rd their lives, and how many have willingly lost their

ASCETIC. 91

lives indeed without either great kindness showed them
before (and afterward, you wot well, they could nothing
win), but even that it contented and satisfied their mind,
that by their death their lover should clearly see how
faithfully they loved ? The delight whereof imprinted in
their phantasy not assuaged only, but counterpoised also
(they thought) all their pain. Of these affections with the
wonderful dolorous effects following thereon, not only old
written stories, but over that I think in every country
Christian and heathen both, experience giveth us proof
enough. And is it not then a wonderful shame for us for
the dread of temporal death to forsake our Saviour that
willingly suffered so painful death rather than He would
forsake us, considering that beside that He shall for our
suffering so highly reward us with everlasting wealth ? Oh !
if he that is content to die for her love, of whom he looketh
after for no reward, and yet by his death goeth from her,
might by his death be sure to come to her, and ever after
in delight and pleasure to dwell with her : such a lover
would not let here to die for her twice. And how cold
lovers be we then unto God, if rather than die for Him
once we will refuse Him and forsake Him for ever that both
died for us before, and hath also provided that if we die
here for Him we shall in heaven everlastingly both live and
also reign with Him. For, as St. Paul saith, if we suffer
with Him we shall reign with Him.

How many Romans, how many noble courages of other
sundry countries have willingly given their own lives, and
suffered great deadly pains, and very painful deaths for their
countries, and the respect of winning by their deaths the
only reward of worldly renown and fame ! And should we

\M>

then shrink to suffer as much for eternal honour in lx
and everlasting glory ? The devil hath also some so
obstinate heretics that endure wittingly painful death tor
vain glory : and is it not more than shame, that Christ shall
see His Catholics forsake His faith rather than suffer the
same for heaven and very glory ? Would God, as I many
times have said, that the remembrance of Christ's kindness
in suffering His passion for us, the consideration of hell
that we should fall in by forsaking of Him, the joyful
meditation of eternal life in heaven, that we shall win with
this short, temporal death patiently taken for Him, had so
deep a place in our breast as reason would they should,
and as (if we would do our devoir towards it, and labour
for it, and pray therefor) I verily think they should.
then, should they so take up our mind, and ravish it all
another way, that as a man hurt in a fray feeleth not s
time his wound, nor yet is not ware thereof till his mind fall
more thereon, so farforth, that sometime another man
sho'-veth him that he hast lost a hand before he perceive it
himself. So the mind ravished in the thinking deeply of
those other things, Christ's death, hell, and heaven, were
likely to minish and put away of our painful death four
parts of the feeling, either of the fear or of the pain.1

Ml! ITATIONS AND PRAYERS COMPOSED IN 111! T<>\vi.k.

(live me Thy grace, good Lord, to set the world at
naught ; to set my mind fast upon Thee ; and not to hang
upon the blast of men's mouths.

To be content to be solitary; not to long for worldly
company; little and little utterly to cast off the world, and rid

1 Dialogue of Comfort, Works, 1260.

ASCETIC. 93

my mind of all the business thereof; not to long to hear
of any worldly things, hut that the hearing of worldly
phantasies may be to me displeasant.

Gladly to be thinking of God ; piteously to call for His
help ; to lean unto the comfort of God ; busily to labour to
love Him.

To know mine own vility and wretchedness ; to humble
and meeken myself under the mighty hand of God. To
bewail my sins past ; for the purging of them patiently to
suffer adversity ; gladly to bear my purgatory here ; to be
joyful of tribulations ; to walk the narrow way that leadeth
to life.

To bear the cross with Christ ; to have the last things in
remembrance ; to have ever afore mine eye my death that is
ever at hand ; to make death no stranger to me ; to foresee
and consider the everlasting fire of hell ; to pray for pardon
before the Judge come.

To have continually in mind that passion that Christ
suffered for me ; for His benefits uncessantly to give Him
thanks.

To buy the time again, that I before have lost ; to abstain
from vain confabulations ; to eschew light, foolish mirth ;
and gladness ; recreations not necessary to cut off; of worldly
substance, friends, liberty, life, and all, to set the loss at
right naught for the winning of Christ.

To think my most enemies my best friends ; for the
brethren of Joseph could never have done him so much
good with their love and favour as they did him with their
malice and hatred.

These minds are more to be desired of every man than
all the treasure of all the princes and kings, Christian and

WIMxiM \M> \VI I .

heathen, were it gathered and laid to-ether all upon one

PRAYKR.

[Composed after /;<•/;;<,' condt'iniu-d to tiitith.]

PATER NOSTER. AVE MARIA. CREDO.

O Holy Trinity, the Father, the Son, and the HoK ( ihost,
three equal and coeternal Persons and one Almighty (lod,
have mercy on me, vile, abject, abominable, sinful wretch,
meekly knowledging before Thine High Majesty my long-
continued sinful life, even from my very childhood hitherto.

In my childhood (in this point and that point}. After
my childhood (in this point and that point, and so forth by
e'ery age).

Now, good gracious Lord, as Thou givest me Thy
to knowledge them, so give me Thy grace not only in word
but in heart also, with very sorrowful contrition to repent
them and utterly to forsake them. And forgive me those
sins also in which, by mine own default, through evil
affections and evil custom, my reason is with sensuality so
blinded that I cannot discern them for sin. And illumine,
good Lord, mine heart, and give me Thy grace to know
them and to knowledge them, and forgive me my sins
negligently forgotten, and bring them to my mind with
grace to be purely confessed of them.

Glorious God, give me from henceforth Thy grace, with
little respect unto the world, so to set and fix firmly mine
heart upon Thee, that I may say with Thy blessed apostle
St. Paul : " Mundus mihi crucifixus est et ego mundo.
Mihi vivcre Christus est et mori lucrum. Cupio dissolvi et
esse cum Christo."

ASCETIC. 95

(iive me Thy grace to amend my life and to have an eye
to mine end without grudge of death, which to them that
die in Thee, good Lord, in the gate of a wealthy life.

Almighty God, Doce me facere voluntatem Tuam. Fac
me currere in odore unguentorum tuorum. Apprehende
manum meam dexteram et deduc me in via recta' propter
inimicos meos. Trahe me post te. In chamo et freno
maxillas meas constringe, quum non approximo ad te.

O glorious God, all sinful fear, all sinful sorrow and
pensiveness, all sinful hope, all sinful mirth and gladness
take from me. And on the other side, concerning such
fear, such sorrow, such heaviness, such comfort, consolation,
and gladness as shall be profitable for my soul : Fac mecum
secundum magnam bonitatem tuam Domine.

Good Lord, give me the grace, in all my fear and agony,
to have recourse to that great fear and wonderful agony that
Thou, my sweet Saviour, hadst at the Mount of Olivet before
Thy most bitter passion, and in the meditation thereof to con
ceive ghostly comfort and consolation profitable for my soul.

Almighty God, take from me all vain-glorious minds, all
appetites of mine own praise, all envy, covetise, gluttony,
sloth, and lechery, all wrathful affections, al! appetite of
revenging, all desire or delight of other folk's harm, all
pleasure in provoking any person to wrath and anger, all
delight of exprobation or insultation against any person in
their affliction and calamity.

And give me, good Lord, an humble, lowly, quiet,
peaceable, patient, charitable, kind, tender, and pitiful mind
with all my works, and all my words, and all my thoughts,
to have a taste of Thy holy, blessed Spirit.

Give me, good Lord, a full faith, a firm hope, and a

,,,, \VI>D«iM AND \VII.

I charity, a love to the good Lord incomparable above
the love t<> myself; and that I love nothing to Thy dis
pleasure, but everything in an order to Thee.

Give me, good Ix>rd, a longing to be with Thee, not for
the avoiding of the calamities of this wretched world, nor BO
much for the avoiding of the pains of purgatory, nor of the
pains of hell neither, nor so much for the attaining of the
joys of heaven in respect of mine own commodity, as even
for a very love to Thee.

And bear me, good Lord, Thy love and favour, which
thing my love to Thee-ward, were it never so great, could
not, but of Thy great goodness deserve.

And pardon me, good Lord, that I am so bold to a-
high petitions, being so vile a sinful wretch, and so unworthy
to attain the lowest. But yet, good Lord, such they he as
I am bounden to wish, and should be nearer the effectual
desire of them if my manifold sins were not the let. I-rom
which, O glorious Trinity, vouchsafe, of Thy goodie
wash me with that blessed blood that issued out of Tin
tender body, O sweet Saviour Christ, in the divers torments
of Thy most bitter passion.

Take from me, good Lord, this lukewarm fashion, or
rather key-cold manner of meditation, and this dulm ss in
praying unto Thee. And give me warmth, delight, and
quickness in thinking upon Thee. And give me Thy grace
to long for Thine holy sacraments, and specially to re
joice in the presence of Thy very blessed body, sweet
Saviour Christ, in the holy sacrament of the altar, and duly
to thank Thee for Thy gracious visitation therewith, and at
that high memorial with tender compassion to remember
and consider Thy most bitter passion.

ASCETIC. 97

Make us all, good Lord, virtually participant of that holy
sacrament this day, and every day. Make us all lively
members, sweet Saviour Christ, of Thine holy mystical
body, Thy Catholic Church.

Digr.are, Domine, die isto sine peccato nos custodire.
Miserere nostri, Domine, miserere nostri.

Fiat misericordia tua, Domine, super nos, quemadmo-
dum speravimus in te.

In te. I )omine, speravi, non confundar in aeternum.

R. Ora pro nobis, sancta Dei genitrix.

V. Ut digni efficiamur rjromissionibus Christi.
Pro amicis.

Almighty Godv have mercy on N. and N. (with special
meditation and consideration of every friend ", as godly affec
tions and occasion requireth}.

Pro inimicis.

Almighty God, have mercy on N. and N., and on all that
bear me evil will, and would me harm, and their faults and
mine together by such easy, tender, merciful means as
Thine infinite wisdom best can devise, vouchsafe to amend
and redress and make us saved souls in heaven together,
where we may ever live and love together with Thee and
Thy blessed saints, O glorious Trinity, for the bitter passion
of our sweet Saviour Christ. Amen.

God, give me patience in tribulation and grace in every
thing, to conform my will to Thine, that I may truly say :
" Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in coelo et in terra ".

The things, good Lord, that I pray for, give me Thy
grace to labour for. Amen.1

1 Works, 1416.

7

PART THE SECOND.

DOGMATIC.

DOGMATIC.
FAITH AND REASON.

I cannot see why ye should reckon reason for an enemy
to faith,1 except ye reckon every man for your enemy that is
your better and hurteth you not. Then were one of your
five wits enemy to another; and our feeling should abhor our
sight because we may see further by four mile than we may
feel. ... I pray you that our Lord was born of a virgin how
know you? "Marry (quoth he) by Scripture." "How
know you (quoth I), that ye should believe the Scripture ? "
" Marry (quoth he) by faith." " Why (quoth I), what doth
faith tell you therein ? " " Faith (quoth he) telleth me that
Holy Scripture is things of truth written by the secret
teaching of God." "And whereby know you (quoth I)
that ye should believe God ? " " Whereby ? (quoth he) this
is a strange question. Every man may well weet that."
"That is truth (quoth I) ; but is there any horse or any ass
that wotteth that ? " u None (quoth he) that I wot of, but
if Balaam's ass anything understood thereof, for he spake
like a good reasonable ass." " If no brute beast can wit
that (quoth I) and every man may, what is the cause why
man may and other beasts may not ? " " Marry (quoth
he), for man hath reason and they have none." " Ah ! well

1 Luther and the early Protestants constantly denounced reason
and philosophy.

(101)

102 \VI>I.(.M AND NVII.

then (quoth I), reason must he needs have then that shall
perceive what he should believe. And so must reason
not resist faith, but walk with her, and as her handmaid
so wait upon her that, as contrary as ye take her, yet of a
truth faith goeth never without her.

" But likewise, as if a maid be suffered to run on the
bridle, or to be cup-shotten,1 or wax too proud, she will
then wax copious and chop logic with her mistress, and
fare sometimes as if she were frantic ; so if reason be
suffered to run out at riot, and wax over-high hearced and
proud, she will not fail to fall in rebellion towards her
mistress faith. But on the other side, if she be well,
brought up and well guided and kept in good temper, she
shall never disobey faith, being in her right mind." -

HEATHEN PHILOSOPHY.

[The old heathen moral philosophers.]

They never stretch so far but that they leave untouched,
for lack of necessary knowledge, that special point which is
not only the chief comfort of all, but without which also, all
other comforts are nothing : that is, to wit, the referring of
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 ir hea\cn.
And for lack of knowledge of this end they did (as they
needs must) leave untouched also the very special mean,
without which we can never attain to this comfort ; that is,
to wit, the gracious aid and help of God to move, stir, and
guide us forward in the referring all our ghostly comfort,

1 Tipsy. -' Dialogue of Comfort, Works, 153.

DOGMATIC. 103

yea and our worldly comfort too, all unto that heavenly
end. And therefore, as I say, for the lack of these things,
all their comfortable 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, for which they may be suffered to dwell among our
apothecaries if their medicines be not made 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 without this way taken
with them they shall not fail to do, as many bold blind
apothecaries do, who either for lucre or of a foolish pride,
give sick folk medicines of their own devising ; and there
with kill up in corners many such simple folk, as they find
so foolish to put their lives in such lewd and unlearned
blind bayards' hands.1

We shall, therefore, neither fully receive these philoso
phers' reasons in this matter nor yet utterly refuse them ;
but using them in such order as shall beseem them, the
principal and the effectual medicines against these diseases
of tribulation shall we fetch from that high, great and
excellent Physician, without whom we could never be
healed of our very deadly disease of damnation.2

THE KNOWN CATHOLIC CHURCH.

Since it is agreed between us, and granted through
Christendom, and a conclusion very true, that by the

1 A bayard is properly a bay horse ; but a blind bayard was a
common expression for a rash, headstrong man.
- Dialogue of Comfort, Works, 1142.

104 WI-IH-M \ND \\ 1 1 .

Church we know the Scripture:1 Which Church i> that by
which we know the Scripture? Is it not this company and
congregation of all these nations that, without factions taken
and precision from the remnant, profess the name and
faith of Christ? By this Church know we the Scripture
and this is that very Church, and this hath begun at Christ,
and hath had Him for their head, and St. Peter His vicar
after Him the head under Him, and always since th
cessors of Him continually, and have had His holy faith and
His blessed sacraments and His holy Scriptures del
kept, and conserved therein by God and His holy Spirit.

And albeit, some nations fall away, yet likewi-r as how
many boughs so ever fall from the tree, though they fall
more than be left thereon, yet they make no doubt which
is the very tree, although each of them were planted
in another place, and grew to a greater than the >u>ck he
came first of; right so, while we see and well know that all the
companies and sects of heretics and schismatics, ho\\
so ever they grow, came out of this Church that I speak of.
we know evermore that the heretics be they that IK ^cvered,
and the Church the stock that they all came out ot.

GOD'S PERPETUAL APOSTLE.

In such things as God seeth most need, and the heretics
most busy to assault His Church, there doth He m««st
specially fence in His Church with miracles. A> in the
reverence of images, relics, and pilgrimages, and worshipping
of saints and His holy sacraments, and most of all that holy
sacrament of the altar, His own blessed body: for which

1 Luther had conceded thus much.
- Dialogue ofCu»if<»-t. \\

DOGMATIC. 105

manner of things He hath wrought and daily doth many-
wonderful miracles, and the like of those that He vvi ought
in the time of His apostles, to show and make proof that
His Catholic Church is His perpetual Apostle, how many
nations so ever fall therefrom, and how little and small so
ever it be left.1

THE PILLAR AND GROUND OF THE TRUTH.
" The Church," saith St. Paul, " is the pillar and ground
of the truth." This word " the pillar," and this word " the
ground," or the foot of the pillar, do not barely signify
strength in the standing by themselves, but they signify
therewith the bearing up of some other things, and that
they be sure things for some other things to rest and lean
upon. As the roof of a church is borne up from ruin and
falling by the pillars upon which it resteth, so is the Church
the pillar or the foot or ground of truth upon whose
doctrine every man may rest and stand sure. Now if the
very Church which cannot err be a congregation invisible
and a company unknown, though every one of them have
the very truth in himself, yet if I cannot know that Church
I cannot lean to that Church as to a sure pillar of truth. -

THE HOLY SEE INFALLIBLE.

But now, whoso look upon these two laws shall soon see
that the cause why he (Barns) did not (quote them fully
and give accurate references) was because he durst not.
For the law xxiv. que i A recta speaketh clear against him.
For that law saith nothing else but that the very true faith
without error hath been ever preserved in the See Apostolic,

1 Conf. of Timlalc, Works, 458. - Ibid., Works, 742.

lof) WISDOM AND \vn.

and as the law calleth it there, the mother of all Churches,
the Church of Rome. And therefore this law (ye see well)
wa> not for his purpose to bring in, hut instead of the law
he layeth us forth a patch of the gl<

THI-. DM RETALS.

These words which Tindale saith are a plain law made
by the Pope, are indeed incorporate in the book of the
Decrees in the same distinction and place where Tindale
allegeth them. But there is Tindale very ignorant if he
know not that though there be in the book of the 1 ^
many things that be laws, and that were by divers 1
and divers synods and councils made for laws, yet are
there in that book many things beside that neither were
made by any synod nor by any Pope, but written by divers
good holy men, out of whose holy works as well as out of
synods and councils and Popes' writing, Gratian, a good,
virtuous, and well-learned man, compiled and gathered that
book, which is therefore called the Decrees of Gratian.

Now is everything that is alleged and inserted of such
authority there as it is in the place out of which Gratian
gathered it. Now the words which Tindale bringeth forth
be not the words of any Pope, but they be the words of
the blessed martyr St. Boniface. Wherein Tindale plainly
showeth his plain, open falsehood, except he were so wise
that he had weened the Pope had made it for a law because
it beginneth with .SV Fapa> like him that because he read in
the mass book Te igitur clenientissime patct\ preached unto
the parish that Te igitur was St. Clement's father.

(-1NERAL COUNCILS.

Now think I, that though Friar Barns will not believe any
1 Co;*/, of Tindale, Works, 776. - Ibid., Works, 623.

DOGMATIC. 107

general council, but if the whole Church be there, yet he
looketh not that in any council everything should stay and
nothing pass, till all the whole assembly were agreed so
fully upon one side that there were not so much as any one
man there of the contrary mind. For though some one
might in some one matter be of a better mind at the first
than the multitude, yet in a council of wise men when it
were proposed it were likely to be perceived and allowed.
And in a council of Christian men the Spirit of God
inclineth every good man to declare his mind, and inclineth
the congregation to consent and agree upon that that shall
be the best, either precisely the best, or the best at the
least wise for the season. Which, when so ever it shall be
better at any other time to change, the same Spirit of God
inclineth His Church either at a new council, or by as full
and whole consent as any council can have, to abrogate the
first and turn it into the better.

But when the council and the congregation agreeth and
consenteth upon a point, if a few wilful folk, far the less
both in number, wit, learning and honest living, would so
claim and say that themselves would not agree, yet were
their forwardness no let unto the determination or to the
making of the law, but that it might stand till it be by
another like authority changed.

But these changes that I speak of, I mean in things to be
done, and not in truths to be believed. For in divers times
divers things may be convenient, and divers manners of
doing. But in matters of belief and faith, which be truths
revealed and declared by God unto man, though that in
divers times there may be more things farther and farther
revealed, and other than were declared at the first, yet can

108 \\ IM>(»M \M) \VJ I .

there never anything he- by (iod revealed after, that can he
contrary to anything revealed by Himself before.1

THE CHURCH Di>ri.K>i-.i>.

Now shall I further say, that whatsoever all Christian
people would determine if they came to one a— embly
together; look what strength it should have if tin v so did,
the same strength hath it, if they be all of the same mind,
though they make no decree thereof, nor come not together
therefor. For when all Christian people be by the same Spirit
of God brought into a full agreement and consent that the vow
of chastity may not be, by his pleasure that made it. broken
and set at naught, but that whoso doth break it committeth
a horrible sin, and that whoso holdeth the contrary of this
is a heretic, then is this belief as sure a truth as though they
had — all the whole company-- come to a council together to
determine it.2

HERETICS.

Heretics be all they that obstinately hold any self-minded
opinion contrary to the doctrine that the common known
Catholic Church teacheth and holdeth for necessary to
salvation.8

DEVELOPMENT OF Dot TRIM..

If he will say that sometimes the doctors which we call holy
saints have not all agreed in one, but some hath sometimes
thought in some one thing otherwise than others have done,
then his saying is nothing to the purpose. 1 01 (iod dotl.
His truths not always in one manner, but sometimes 1 le -Oiow-
eth it out at once, as He will have it known, and men bound

1 Conf. of Tindalc, Works, 778. - I bid., \\

« /. of SalfHi and Bizm . 941.

DOGMATIC. 109

forthwith to believe it, as He showed "Moses what he would
have Pharao do. Sometimes He showeth it leisurely, suffering
His flock to commune and dispute thereon, and in their
treating of the matter suffereth them with good mind, and
Scripture, and natural wisdom, with invocation of His
spiritual help, to search and seek for the truth, and to vary
for the while in their opinions, till that He reward their
virtuous diligence with leading them secretly into the con
sent and concord, and belief of the truth by His Holy
Spirit, (jni facit unanimes in domo (Ps. Ixvii. 7), "which maketh
His flock in one mind in His House, that is, to wit, His
Church". So that in the meantime the variance is without
sin, and maketh nothing against the evidence of the Church,
except Tindale will say that he will neither believe St. Peter
nor St. Paul in anything that they teach, because that once
they varied in the manner of their doctrine, as appeareth

(Gal. ii. 1 1-14). l

EVANGELICALS.

It is now, and some years already past hath been, the name
(viz., Evangelicals) by which they have been as commonly
called in all the countries Catholic as by their own very
name of heretic. And the occasion thereof grew first of that,
that themselves took the name Evangelical arrogantly to
themselves, both by their evangelical liberty that they pre
tended, as folk that would live under the Gospel and under no
man's law beside, and because they would also believe nothing
farther than the very Scriptures, all which they take now
under the name of the Gospel. Now, when they had taken
this name commonly upon themselves, the Catholics, telling
them that they neither lived nor believed according to'

1 Conf. of Tiiulah; Works, 456.

I 10 \\I-D..\I \ND WIT.

the Gospel, listed not yet to call them by the same name
too, and that not to their praise, but to their rebuke m
such manner of speaking as every man uselh when he calleth
oneself [same] naughty lad, both a. "shrewd boy" and a
"good son," the one in the proper simple speech, the other
by the figure of irony or antiphrasis.1

WHAT MORE THOUGHT OF LUTHERANS M.

Surely there was never sect of heretics yet that tlu i
so great madness to believe as these. For of other heretics
that have been of old, every sect had some one heresy, or
else very few. Now these heretics came in with almost
all that ever they held, and yet more, too. All the other
heretics had some pretext of holiness in their living; these
shameless heretics live in open, shameless, incestuous
lechery, and call it matrimony. The old heretics did stick
upon Scripture when it was yet in a manner new re< ei\ed,
and they contended upon the understanding at such time
as there had few Christian writers expounded the Scripture
before them ; so as they might the better say to the Catholic
Church: "Why may not we perceive the Scripture a
as you?" But these new heretics be so far from shame,
that in the understanding of Scripture, and in the affirming
of all their heresies, they would be believed by their only
word against all the old holy doctors that have been since
the death of Christ unto this day, and that in those rotten
heresies, too, which they find condemned to the devil by the
general councils of all Christendom a thousand years before
their days.

And most mad of all in denying the sacraments which

1 Debcl. of Salem and Bizancc, Works, 939.

DOGMATIC. 1 1 1

they find .received and believed, used and honoured so
dearly from the beginning, that never was there heretic that
durst for very shame so boldly bark against them, till that
now in these latter days the devil hath broken his chains,
and of all extreme abomination hath set his poisoned barrel
abroach, from the dreggy draught whereof God keep every
good Christian man, and such as have drunken thereof give
them grace to vomit it out again betime.1

RESULTS OF LUTHERANISM (A.D. 1528).
Of all the heretics that ever sprang in Christ's Church,
the very worst and the most beastly be these Lutherans, as
their opinions and their lewd living showeth. And let us
never doubt but all that be of that sect, if any seem good,
as very few do, yet will they in conclusion decline to the
like lewd living as their master and their fellows do, if they
might once (as by God's grace they never shall) frame the
people to their own frantic fantasy. Which dissolute living
they be driven to dissemble, because their audience is not
yet brought to the point to hear, which they surely trust to
bring about, and to frame this realm after the fashion of
Switzerland or Saxony, or some other parts of Germany,
where their sect hath already fordone the faith, pulled down
the churches, polluted the temples, put out and despoiled
all good religious folk, joined friars and nuns together in
lechery, despited all saints, blasphemed our Blessed Lady,
cast down Christ's Cross, thrown out the Blessed Sacra
ment, refused all good laws, abhorred all good governance,
rebelled against all rulers, fallen to fight among themselves,
and so many thousand slain, that the land lieth in many

1 Co«/. of Tindale, Works, 394.

\M) \vn.

in manner desert and desolate. And finally, that
abominable is of all, of all their own ungracious <
they lay the fault on God, taking away the liberty of man's
will, ascribing all our deeds to destiny, with all reward or
punishment pursuing upon all our doings : whereby they
take away all diligence and good endeavour to virtue, all
withstanding and striving against vice, all care of ru
all fear of hell, all cause of prayer, all desire of devotion, all
exhortation to good, all dehortation from evil, all pi
well-doing, all rebuke of sin, all the laws of the world, all
reason among men, set all wretchedness abroach, no man at
liberty, and yet every man do what he will, calling it not his
will, but his destiny, laying their sin to God's ordinance and
their punishment to God's cruelty, and, finally, turning the
nature of man into worse than a beast, and the goodness
of God into worse than a devil. And all this good fruit
would a few mischievous persons, some for desire of a large
liberty to an unbridled lewdness, and some of a high devilish
pride cloaked under pretext of good zeal and simple-ness, un
doubtedly bring into this realm, if the prince and prelates
and the good faithful people did not in the beginning meet
with their malice.1

LUTHER A REFORM IK.

Tindak. — Though our popish hypocrites succeed Chri-t
and His Apostles, and have their Scripture, yet they be
fallen from the faith and living of them, and are he:
and had need of a John Baptist to convert them.

More. — If Tindale will have Luther taken now tor a new
St. John, as of the old St. John it was of old prop:

1 Dialogue of Comfort , Works, 284.

DOGMATIC. 1 I 3

by the mouth of Esay that he should be the voice of one
crying in desert : " Make ready the way of our Lord, make
straight the paths of our God in wilderness " ; so must Tin-
dale now tell us by what old prophet God hath prophesied
that He would in the latter days, when the faith were sore
decayed, and charity greatly cooled, rear up a friar that should
wed a nun, and from a harlot's bed step up into the pulpit
and preach. For, but if he prove his authority the better,
either by prophecy or by marvellous miracle, it will be long
of likelihood ere ever any wise man ween that God would
ever send any such abominable beast, to turn the world to the
right way, and make a perfect people.1

DOGS AND HOGS.

'J'indale. — Howbeit there be swine that receive no learn
ing, but to defile it, and there be dogs that rend all good
learning with their teeth.

More. — If there be such swine and such dogs, as indeed
there be, as our Saviour Himself witnesseth in the Gospel,
then is it false that Tindale told us before that all standeth
in teaching. Then to keep such from doing harm, we must
not only teach and preach, we must yoke them from break
ing hedges, and ring them from rooting, and have bandogs
to drive them out of the corn, and lead them out by the ears.

And if there be such dogs, what availeth to teach them
that will not learn, but rend all good learning with their
teeth ? And, therefore, to such dogs men may not only
preach, but must, with whips and bats, beat them well,
and keep them from tearing of good learning with their
dogs' teeth, yea, and from barking both, and chastise them,

1 Cinif. of Tindale, Works, 650.

8

AND \VI I.

and make them couch, quail, till they lie slill and hearken
what is said unto them. And by such means he both swine
kept from doing harm, and dogs fall sometii. ell to

learning that they can stand upon their hinder feet, and hold
their hands afore them prettily like a maid, yea, and learn to
dance, too, after their master's pipe. Such an effectual
thing is punishment, whereas bare teaching will not s

ST. THOMA> Auu

Now where the wretch (Tindale) raileth by name upon
that holy doctor, St. Thomas, a man of that learning that
the great excellent wits and the most cunning men that
the Church of Christ hath had since his days, have esteemed
and called him the very flower of theology ; and a nun of
that true perfect faith and Christian living thereto, that
God hath Himself testified His Holiness by many a
miracle, and made him honoured here in His Church in
earth, as He hath exalted him to great glory in heaven :
this glorious saint of God doth this devilish, drunku.
abominably blaspheme, and calleth him liar and falsifier
of Scripture, and maketh him no better than ••draft".
But this drowsy drudge hath drunken so deep in the devil's
dregs, that, but if he wake and repent himself the sooner,
he may hap, ere aught long, to fall into the mashi:
and turn himself into draf, as the hogs of hell shall feed upon
and fill their bellies thereof. -

1 Conf. of Tindale, Works, 586.

- Ibid., Works, 679. The last sentence of this passage is quoted
by some admirers of Tindale to show the length and depth of ribaldry
to which Sir Thomas More went. The passage shows the intense
indignation stirred up in Sir Thomas by the ribaldries and blasphe
mies of Tindale against St. Thomas and the other doctors of the
Church.

DOGMATIC. 115

THE CHURCH'S LAWS.

More. — Our Saviour said that the scribes and the phari-
sees, besides the law of Moses, on whose seat they sat,
did lay great fardels, and fast bound them on other men's
backs, to the bearing whereof they would not move a finger
themselves. And yet for all that He bade the people do
what their prelates would bid them, though the burden were
heavy, and let not to do it, though they should see the
bidders do clean contrary — for which He added : "But as
they do, do not you ".

Messenger. — By our Lady, I like not this glose. For it
maketh all for the bonds, by which the laws of the Church
bind us to more ado than the Jews were almost with Moses'
law. And I wot well Christ said : " Come to Me ye that
be overcharged, and I shall refresh you ". And His apostles
said that the bare law of Moses, besides1 the ceremonies
that were set to by the scribes and pharisees, were more
than ever they were able to bear and fulfil. And, therefore,
Christ came to call us into a law of liberty, and that was in
taking away the band of those very ceremonial laws. And,
therefore, saith our Saviour of the law that He called us
unto : " My yoke, saith He, is fit and easy, and My burden
but light ". Whereby it appeareth He meant to take away
the strait yoke and put on a more easy, and to take off the
heavy burden and lay on a lighter. Which He had not
done if He would lade us with a fardel full of men's laws,
more than a cart can carry away.

More. — The laws of Christ be made by Himself and His
holy Spirit for the government of His people, and be not in

1 i.e., apart from.

1 Ifi \\ 1-IniM AND WIT.

hardness and difficulty of keeping anything like to the laws
«.f MOM/S. And thereof durst I for need make yourself
judge. For if ye bethink you well. I ween, if it were at this
age now to chose, you would rather be hound to many of
the laws of Christ's Church than to the circumcision alone.

Nor to as much ease as we ween that Christ called us.
yet be not the laws that have been made by His Chut
half the pain nor half the difficulty that His own he, which
Himself putteth in the Gospel, though we set aside the
counsels. It is, I trow, more hard not to swear at all than
not to forswear, to forbear each angry word than not to kill ;
continual watch and prayer than a few days appointed.
Then what an anxiety and solicitude is there in the for
bearing of every idle word ! What a hard threat, after the
worldly compt, for a small matter! Never was there
almost so sore a word said unto the Jews by Mos<
is to us by Christ in that word alone, where He saith that
we shall of every idle word give accompt at tin
of judgment.

What say ye then by divorces restrained, the liberty of
divers wives withdrawn, where they had liberty to wed for
their pleasure* if they cast a fantasy to any that the\
in the war ?

Messenger. — One of that ware is enough to make any
one man war.

More. — Now that is merrily said ; but though on.
were enough for a fletcher, yet is he for store content to
keep twain, and would, though they were sometim<
both and should put him to some pain. What ease also
call you this, that we be bound to abide all sorrow and
shameful death and all martyrdom upon pain of perpetual

DOGMATIC. 117

damnation for the profession of our faith ? Trow ye that
these easy words of His easy yoke and light burden were
not as well spoken to His apostles as to you ; and yet, what
ease called He them to ? Called He not them to watching,
fasting, praying, preaching, walking, hunger, thirst, cold
and heat, beating, scourging, prisonment, painful and
shameful death ? The ease of His yoke standeth not in
bodily ease, nor the lightness of His burden standeth not
in the slackness of any bodily pain, except we be so wanton
that where Himself had not heaven without pain we look to
come thither with play ; but it standeth in the sweetness
of hope, whereby we feel in our pain a pleasant taste of
heaven. This is the thing, as holy St. Gregory Nazianzen
declareth, that refresheth men that are laden and maketh
our yoke easy and our burden light ; not any delivering
from the laws of the Church, or from any good temporal
laws either, into a lewd liberty of slothful rest. For that
were not an easy yoke, but a pulling of the head out of the
yoke. Nor it were not a light burden, but all the burden
discharged, contrary to the words of St. Paul and St. Peter
both, which as well understood the words of their Master as
these men do ; and as a thing consonant and well agreeable
therewith do command us obedience to our superiors and
rulers, one and other, in things by God not forbidden,
although they be hard and sore.1

PENANCE.

Tindale here beareth us in hand that the Scripture
speaketh not of penance, because himself giveth the Greek
word ( ftfTavoia) another English name. And because that

1 Dialogue of Comfort, Works, 142.

I IS \\ l>|.n.M AND Wri.

Tindale calleth it fore-thinking and repentance, therefore all
Englishmen have ever hitherto misused their own Ian
in calling the thing by the name of penance. Now.
the word penance, whatsoever the ('.reek word he, il
was, and yet is lawful enough -(so that Tindale give us leave)
to call anything in English by what word soever English
men by common custom agree upon. And, therefore, to
make a change of the English word, as though that all
England should go to school with Tindale to learn Knglish,
is a very frantic folly.

But now the matter standeth not therein at all : tor
Tindale is not angry with the word, but because of the
matter. For this grieveth Luther and him, that by penance
we understand, when we speak thereof so many good things
therein, and not a bare repenting or fore-thinking only, l>ut
also every part of the sacrament of penance, confession of
mouth, contrition of heart, and satisfaction by good deeds.
For, if we called it but the sacrament of repentance, and
by that word would understand as much good thereby as
we now do by the word penance, Tindale would be then as
angry with repentance as he now is with penance. lor he
hateth nothing but to hear that men should do any good.
We have for our poor English word penance the use of all
Englishmen since penance first began among them, and
that is authority enough for an English word.1

I \STING FOR PENANCK AND HfMii.i \i i<>\.

Tindale and his master (Luther) be wont to cry out upon
the Pope and upon all the clergy, for that they meddle '
philosophy with the things of God, which is a thing that

1 Co;//, of Tindnlc, Works, 439. 2 Mix.

DOGMATIC. 119

may in place be very well done, since the wisdom of
philosophy — all that we find true therein — is the wisdom
given of God, and may well do service to His other gifts of
higher wisdom than that is. But Tindale here in this place
doth lean unto the old natural philosophers altogether ; for,
as for abstinence to tame the flesh from intemperance, and
foul lusts also, this was a thing that many philosophers did
both teach and use. But as for fasting, that is another thing,
which God hath always among His faithful people had
observed and kept, not only for that purpose, but also for a
kind of pain, affliction and punishment of the flesh for their sins
and to put us in remembrance that we be now in the vale of
tears, and not in the hill of joy, saving for the comfort of hope.
And albeit that Tindale be loth to hear thereof, because
he would not that any man should do true penance with
putting himself to any pain for his own sins, yet would God
the contrary. And as He will that men for their sins should
be sorry in their hearts, so would He that for the same cause
the sorrow of their hearts should redound into their bodies ;
and that we should, for the provocation of God's mercy,
humble ourselves before Him, and not only pray for for
giveness, but also put our bodies to pain and affliction of
our own selves, and thereby to show how heavily we take it
that we have offended Him.1

\VORKS OF PENANCE AND SATISFACTION.

Tindale saith God is no tyrant, and thereforth rejoiceth

not in our pain but pitieth us, and as it were mourneth with

us, and would we should have none, saving that like a good

on He putteth pain of tribulation unto the sores of our

1 Conf. of Tindale, Works, 368.

120 WISDOM AND \\ I I .

sin, because the sin cannot otherwise be rubbed out of the
tlesh and cured.

We say not, neither, that God rej<>i«vth in our pan
tyrant, albeit that Luther and Tindale would have us take
Him for such one as had more tyrannous delight in ^jur
pain than ever had tyrant, when they, by the taking a-vay
of man's free will, would make us ween that (iod alone
worketh all our sin and then damneth His creatures in.
perpetual torments for His own deed.

But we say that God rejoiceth and delighteth in tin
of man's heart when He findeth it such as the man inwardly
delighteth in his heart, and outwardly to let the love of his
heart so redound into the body that he gladly by fasting
and othej affliction putteth the body to pain for God's sake,
and yet thinketh for all that, that in comparison of his duty
all that is much less than right nought.

We say also that God rejoiceth and delighteth in ji:
and for that cause He delighteth to see a man so delight in
the same, and to take his sin so sorrowfully that he is
content of himself by fasting and other affliction willingly
to put himself to pain therefor. And I say that if God hrfd
not this delight, which is not a tyrannous but a good and
godly delight, else would He put unto man no pain for sin
at all. For it is plain false that God doth it for n<
of driving the sin out of the flesh, as Tindale sar
doth, because that otherwise 'it cannot be cured, lor it is
questionless that God can otherwise drive the sin out of the
flesh and by other means cure it, if it so pleased Him, and
so would He, saving for His godly delight in justice, which
He loveth to see man follow by fasting and other

1 Co;//, of Tindtil,, Works, 372.

DOGMATIC. 121

HERETICAL NON-CONTRITION.

Howbeit, Cousin, if so it be, that their [the Lutherans']
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 ; sit cock-a-hoop and fill in all the
cups at once, and then let Christ's passion pay for all the
scot — I am not he that will envy their good hap ; but surely

^counsel dare I give no man to adventure that way with
them. But such as fear lest that way be not sure, and take
upon them willingly tribulation of penance, what comfort
.they do take and well may take therein, that have I some
what told you already. And since these other folk sit so
merry without such tribulation, we need to talk to them,

t you wot well, of no such manner of comfort.1

HAIRSHIRTS.

Then preacheth this " Pacifier " that the clergy should
wear hair. He is surely somewhat sore if he bind them all
the/eto ; but among them I think that many do already,
and some whole religion2 doth. But yet, saith this Pacifier,
that it doth not appear that they do so. Ah ! well said '
But now, if all the lack stand in that point, that such
holiness is hid so that men may not see it, it shall be from
henceforth well done for them, and so they will do if they
be wise, upon this advertisement and preaching of this good
Pan'fier, come out of their cloisters every man into the
market place, and there kneel down in the kennel and make

1 Dialogue of Comfort, Works, 1177.
- Religious order.

\VI>|n>M AND \S 1 I.

their prayers in the open streets, and wear their sh;
hair in sight upon their cowls, and then shall it appear, and
men shall see it. And surely for their shirts of hair in this
vcre there none hypocrisy, anil yet were there also
good policy, for thus should it not prick them.'

THE SEAL OF CONFESS

Tindale, in his "Book of Obedience" (or rather of dis
obedience), saith that the curates'- do go and show the
bishops the confession of such as be rich in their parishes,
and that the bishops thereupon do cite them and lay their
secret sins to their charge, and either put them to open
shameful penance or compel them to pay at the bishop's
pleasure. Now dare I be bold to say, and I suppose all
the honest men in this realm will say and swear the same,
that this is a very foolish falsehood, imagined of his own
rnind, whereof he never saw the sample in his life. . . .
That priests should utter folks' confession were well possible.
and in many of them nothing in this world more likely
neither, if God and His Holy Spirit were not (as it is)
assistant and working with His Holy Sacrament. I Jut
surely, whereas there be manythings that well and clearly prove
the Sacrament of Confession to be a thing institute ai.
vised by God, yet, if all the remnant lacked, this one thing
were unto me a plain persuasion and a full proof (which
thing I find in the noble book that the king's highness
made against Luther), that is, to wit, that in so common a
custom of confession oftener than once in the year, where
no man letteth boldly to tell such his secrets as, upon the

J Apology, Works, 896.
I'.irish priests, all who in any degree had cur, of souls.

DOGMATIC. 123

discovering or close keeping thereof, his honesty1 commonly,
and often time'his life also, dependeth, so many simple as
be of that sort that hear them, and in all other things so
light and lavish of their tongue ... yet find we never any
man take harm by his confession, or cause given of com
plaint, through any such secrets uttered and showed by the
confessor. 2

THE SABBATH-DAY.

Albeit that Christ said unto the Jews that the Son of Man
is the Master and Lord over the Sabbath-day, to use it as
Himself list, which never listed to use it, but to the
best ; yet can I not well see Tindale is in such wise
master and lord of the Sabbath-day, nor no man else,
that he can use it as his man, though it was of God
institute for man and not man for it, that is, to wit, for
the spiritual benefit and profit of man, as our Saviour
saith also Himself. But yet He calleth it not servant
unto man, as Tindale calleth it. For the Scripture
saith that God hath sanctified the Sabbath-day unto Him
self. And that was the cause why that Christ showed unto
the Jews that Himself was Lord of the Sabbath-day, because
He would that they should thereby know that He was very
God, since that they had learned by Scripture that the
Sabbath-day was sanctified only to God Himself, for man's
profit, and no man lord thereof, but only God. A governor
of people is made for the people, and not the people for the
governor, and yet is there no man among the people wont
to call the governor his man, but himself rather the governor's
man. The very Manhood of our Saviour Himself was to

1 Honour. - Dialogue of Comfort, Works, 294.

I 2 \ \VI-1 >(>M AN!" \VH .

some purpose ordained for mankind, as the Incarnation of
His ( iodhead was ordained for man, luit yet useth no wise
man to call Christ his servant, albeit Himself of Hi> meek
ness did more than serve us.1

ON TKANH iTING IHK Sckii-irki \\D l\i \I>IN<, n IN
VULGAR TONGUE.

Messenger. — To keep the Scripture from us. the clergy
seek out every rotten reason that they can find, an
them forth solemnly to the show, though five of
reasons be not worth a fig. For they begin as far
first father Adam, and show us that his wife and he fell out
of paradise with desire of knowledge. Now, if this would
serve, it must from the knowledge and study of Scripture
drive every man, priest and other, lest it drive all out of.
paradise. Then say they that God taught Hi> «'i>< -iples
many things apart, because the people should not hear it ;
and, therefore, they would the people should not now be
suffered to read all. Yet they say further, that it is hard to
translate the Scripture out of one tongue into another, and
specially, they say, into ours, which they call a tongue
vulgar and barbarous. But, of all thing, specially tl;>
that Scripture is the food of the soul, and that the common
people be as infants that must be fed but with milk and
pap; but if we have any stronger meat it must be chammed-
afore by the nurse, and so put into the babe's mouth. Hut me-
think, though they make us all infants, they shall find many a
shrewd brain among us that can p< alk from

well enough ; and if they would once take us our meat in
our own hand, we be not so evil toothed but that within a

1 Co;//, of Thutalf, Works, 373. U.<

DOGMATIC. 125

while they shall see us cham it ourselves as well as they.
For, let them call us young babes and1 they will, yet by God
they shall for all that well find in some of us that an old
knave is no child.

More. — Surely such things as ye speak is the thing that (I
somewhat said before) putteth good folk in fear to suffer the
Scripture in our English tongue ; not for the reading and
receiving, but for the busy chamming thereof, and for much
meddling with such parts thereof as least will agree with their
capacities. For undoubtedly, as ye spake of our mother
Eve, inordinate appetite of knowledge is a mean to drive
any man out of paradise, and inordinate is the appetite
when men unlearned, though they read it in their language,
will be busy to ensearch and dispute the great secret
mysteries of Scripture, which, though they hear, they be not
able to perceive. . . . And thus, in these matters, if the
common people might be bold to cham it (as ye say) and to
dispute it, then should ye have the more blind the more
bold — the more ignorant the more busy — the less wit the
more inquisitive — the more fool the more talkative, and
this not soberly of any good affection, but presumptuously
and unreverently, at meat and at meal. And there, when the
wine were in and the wit out, would they take upon them
with foolish words and blasphemy to handle Holy Scripture
in more homely fashion than a song of Robin Hood.

Whereas, if we would no further meddle therewith, but
well and devoutly read it, and in that that is plain and
evident, as God's commandments and His holy counsels,
endeavour ourselves to follow, with help of His grace asked

if.

WIM>o.M AND WIT.

thereunto, and in Mis great and marvellous mirad.

. xllu-ad. and in His lowly birth, Hi> godly lit,
His hitter passion exercise ourselves in such meditations,
prayers and virtues as the matter shall minister u-
acknowledging our own ignorance where we find a doubt,
and therein leaning to the faith of the Church, wrestle with
no such text as might bring us in a doubt of any »i those
articles wherein every good Christian man is clear: by this
manner of reading can no man nor woman take hurt in ! loly
Scripture.

And to this intent weigh all the words (as far as I per
ceive) of all holy doctors. But never meant they I
suppose) the forbidding of the Bible to be read in any
vulgar tongue. Nor I never yet heard any reason laid why
it were not convenient to have the Bible translated into the
English tongue. . . . For as for that our tongue i^ called
barbarous is but a fantasy ; for so is, as every learned man
knoweth, every strange language to other. And if they
would call it barren of words, there is no doubt but it is
plenteous enough to express our minds in anything whereof
one man hath used to speak with another. Now, as touch
ing the difficulty which a translator findeth in expressing
well and lively the sentence of his author, which i- hard
always to do so surely but that he shall sometimes minish
either of the sentence1 or of the grace that it beaivth in
the former tongue, that point hath lain in their light that
have translated the Scripture already, either out of <
into Latin, or out of Hebrew into any of them both.

Now, as touching the harm that may grow by such blind

1 Meaning.

DOGMATIC.

I27

bayards as will, when they read the Bible in English, be
more busy than will become them ; — they that touch that
point, harp upon the right string and touch truly the great
harm that were likely to grow to some folk, howbeit, not by
the occasion yet of the English translation, but by the
occasion of their own lewdness and folly — which yet were
not in my mind a sufficient cause to exclude the translation
and to put other folk from the benefit thereof, but rather to
make provision against such abuse, and let a good thing go
forth. No wise man were there that would put all weapons
away because manquellers misuse them. Nor this letted
not (as I said) the Scripture to be first written in a vulgar
tongue. . . . And of truth seldom hath it been seen that
any sect of heretics hath begun of such unlearned folk as
nothing could else but the language wherein they read
the Scripture; but there hath always commonly these sects
sprung of the pride of such folk as had, with the knowledge
of the tongue, some high persuasion in themselves of their
own learning besides. To whose authority some other folk
have soon after, part of malice, part of simpleness, and much
part of pleasure and delight in new fangleness fallen in and
increased the fashion. But the head hath ever commonly
been either some proud, learned man, or, at the least, beside
the language, some proud smatterer in learning. Against
which things provision must be made that as much good
may grow, and as little harm Come as can be devised, and
not to keep the whole commodity from any whole people
because of harm that, by their own folly and fault, may come
to some part; as though a lewd1 surgeon would cut off the

1 Ignorant.

NVIxjM.M AND WIT.

the knee to keep the toe from the gout, or cut off a
man's head by the shoulders to keep him from the to;>th
ache.1

F.\I.>K Si-iki i UALJTY.

"All those things," quoth he, "that were- used in t!
law were but gross and carnal, and were all as a shadow of
the law of Christ. And, therefore, the worshipping <>i
with gold and silver, and such other corporal things, ought
not to be used among Christian people. For so Christ
saith Himself, that God, as Himself is spiritual, so seeketh
He such worshippers as shall worship Him in spirit and in
truth, that is in faith, hope, and charity of heart, not in the
hypocrisy and ostentation of outward observance, bodily
service, gay and costly ornaments, fair images, goodly song,
fleshly fasting, and all the rabble of such unsavoury
ceremonies, all which are now gone as a shadow.

"These men," quoth I, "that make themseUi
spiritual, God send grace that some evil spirit inspire not to
their hearts a devilish device which, under a cloak of special
zeal to spiritual service, go first about to destroy al!
devotion as ever hath hitherto showed itself, and uttered
the good affection of the soul by good and holy works, unto
God's honour wrought with the body. These men be < nine
into so high a point of perfection that they pass all the good
men that served God in old time. For as for the good
godly man Moses, he thought that to pray not only in mind,
but with mouth also, was a good way. The good King
David thought it pleasant to God, not only to pray with his

1 Dialogue of Comfort, Works, 241-245. More then explains in
detail the precaution that could be taken and the licence given by
bishops .'o read the Bible, or parts of it, in English.

DOGMATIC. 129

mouth, but also to sing and dance too, to God's honour;
and blamed his foolish wife who did at that time as these
foolish heretics do now, mocking that bodily service. St.
John the Baptist not only baptised and preached, but also
fasted, watched and wore hairshirt. Christ, our Saviour,
Himself not only prayed in mind, but also with mouth,
which kind of prayer these holy spiritual heretics now calf
lip-labour in mockery. And the fasting which they set at
nought, our Saviour Himself set so much by that He con
tinued it forty days together." 1

USE OF CHURCHES.

I would well agree that no temple of stone was unto God
so pleasant as the temple of man's heart. But yet that
nothing letteth or withstandeth but that God will that His
Christian people have in sundry places sundry temples and
churches, to which they should, beside their private prayers,
assemble solemnly and resort in company to worship Him
together, such as dwell near together, that they may con
veniently resort to one place.

And surely, albeit that some good man here and there,
one among ten thousand, as St. Paul and St. Anthony, and
a few such other like, do live all heavenly far out of all
fleshly company, as far from all occasions of worldly
wretchedness as from the common temple or parish church ;
yet, if churches and congregations of Christ's people re
sorting together to God's service were once abolished and
put away, we were like to have few good temples of God
in men's souls, but all would within a while wear away

1 Dialogue, Works, 115.
9

, ^0 \VI>IiMM AM' WI'l.

clean and dearly fall to nought. And this prmv we by
experience, that those which be the best tempi'
in their souls they most use to come to the temple of
stone. And those that least come there be well known for
very ribalds and unthrifts, and openly perceived fur the
temples of the devil.1

CEREMONIES.

Tindale. — And in the ceremonies and sacraments there-
he captivateth his wit and understanding to obey Holy
Church, without asking what they mean or desiri.
know, but only careth for the keeping, and looket;
with a pair of narrow eyes, and with all his spe<ia< k- upon
them, lest aught be left out.

More. — The ceremonies and sacraments Tindale nuiketh
his mocking-stock. But let him beware betime le>i (l<>d
mock him again. Better is it, good Christian rea
the thing that Tindale here reproveth than to do a> I nuhle
hath done, that with his curious search hath so narrowly,
so long pryed upon them with beetle brows, and his brittle
spectacles of pride and malice, that the devil hath stricken
him stark blind, and set him in a corner with a < ham and
a clog, and made him his ape to sit there and serve him,
and to make him sport, with mocking, and mowing, and
potting the sacraments, which yet the devil dreadeth him
self, and dare not come anear them.'

SIGN OF CROSS IN BU>SIN<;.
Tindale. — He had liever that the bishops should waj
fingers over him, than that another man should
save him.

1 Dialogue, Works, 122. - Cow/, of Tindale, \\

DOGMATIC. 131

More.— Blessing of bishops Tindale jesteth upon in more
places than one. And for as much as he knoweth well that
all Christian people have, and ever have had, a good faithful
belief in blessing, both where a man or woman bless them
selves, and also whereas any that hath authority over
them, given by God to bless them (which is a kind of
prayer and invocation of God's grace upon the party so
blessed with the sign of the Cross), as the natural father or
the godfather blesseth the child, or the curate his parishioner,
or the bishop his diocesan ; such things Tindale taketh for
trifles, and laugheth such blessing and crossing to scorn.

St. Gregory Nazianzen writeth that when the great infidel
emperor, commonly called Julian the Apostate, was fallen
from the faith of Christ unto Paganism, giving himself
therewith not only to the persecution of Christian men, but
also to the following of every kind of superstitious folly, he
took with him on a certain time necromancers and went
into a cave to conjure up spirits, to inquire of them certain
things whereof he was very curious to know. And when
he was in the pit among them with their conjurations, there
appeared many terrible sights, so far forth that, albeit with
the trust of his conjurations, he bare it out awhile, yet at
the last the terror and fear so sore increased, that he was fain
for the surest refuge to bless himself with the sign of the
Cross, which he so pursued and hated. At which only
sign, so made with the wagging (as Tindale calleth it) of the
hand in the air, as evil a hand as it was, yet were all the
•devils so sore afraid, that all their fearful illusions failed and
vanished quite away.

And I little doubt that, as little as Tindale setteth by
blessing now, yet, if he might once meet the devil in the

I ^j \VlN|.(»M AM> \\ I I.

dark, he would, I warrant you. OOM and !)!«--, apace.
And I beseech our Lord to give him grace to bless him
self betimes, that he meet not the devil in eternal dar
where whoso mishap to meet him can have no grace to
cross and bless himself, but shall instead of crossing, and
blessing, fall all to cursing and desperate sorrow and furious
blaspheming, without comfort and without end.1

HONOUR DONE TO SAIM-.

Surely if any benefit or alms done to one of Christ's poor
folk for His sake be -by His high goodness reputed and
accepted as done unto Himself ; and if whoso receiveth one
of His apostles or disciples receiveth Himself, every wise-
man may well consider that in likewise whose doth honour
His holy saints for His sake doth honour unto Himself.
Except these heretics ween that God were as envious as they
be themselves, and that He would be wroth to have any
honour done to any other, though it thereby redoundeth
unto Himself. m Whereof our Saviour Christ well declareth
the contrary, for He showeth Himself so well content that
His holy saints shall be partners of His honour, that He
promiseth His apostles at the dreadful day of doom, when
He shall come in His high majesty, they shall have their
honourable seats and sit with Himself upon the judgment of
the world.

Christ also promised that Saint Mary Magdalen should
be worshipped throughout the world, and have here an
honourable remembrance for that she bestowed that pre
cious ointment upon His holy head ; which thing, when I
consider, it maketh me marvel of the madness of these
i COM/, of TimlnU; Works, 398.

DOGMATIC. 133

heretics that bark against the old ancient customs of
Christ's Church, mocking the setting up of candles, and
with foolish facetiousness and blasphemous mockery demand
whether God and His saints lack light, or whether it be
night with them that they cannot see without candle. They
might as well ask what good did that ointment to Christ's
head.

But the- heretics grudge at the cost now as their brother
Judas did then, and say it were better spent in alms upon
poor folk ; and this say many of them who can neither find
in their heart to spend upon the one or the other ; and
some spend sometimes upon the poor for no other intent
but that they may the more boldly rebuke and rail against
the other. But let them all by that same example of the
holy woman, and by these words of our Saviour, learn that
God delighteth to see the fervent heat of the heart's
devotion boil out by the body and to do Him service with
all such goods of fortune as God hath given a man.1

CAN SAINTS HEAR Us?

Ye marvel and think it hard to be believed that saints
hear us. And I (while we see that the things we pray for
we obtain) marvel much more how men can doubt whether
their prayers be heard or not. When saints were in this
world at liberty, and might walk the world about, ween ye
that in heaven they stand tied to a post ? " But the wonder
is how they may see and hear in sundry places at once."
If we, too, could no more but feel, and neither see or hear,
we should as well wonder that it were possible for man to
see or hear further than he can feel, For we that prove it,
1 Dialogue, Works, 118.

\VI>I»OM AND WIT.

and do see and hear indeed, cann< the caust

in mi \ nnder by what reason and mean it may

be, that I should see two churches or two town-, ru< h of
them two a mile asunder, and both twain as far from me as
each of them from ofher, and measure so great quantities
with so small a measure as is the little apple of mir.<
And of hearing many men's voices or any man's
coming at once into many men's ears standing far asunder,
hath like difficulty to conceive. And when all the reasons
be made — either of beams sent out from our eyes to the
things that we behold, or the figure of the thiiv_>
multiplied in the air from the thing to our eye, or of the air
stricken with the breath of the speaker, and equally rolling
forth in rondels to the ears of the hearers — when all the
reasons be heard, yet shall we rather delight to search than
be able to find anything in these matters that were able to
make us perceive it. Now, when we may with our fleshly
eye and ear in this gross body see and hear thii,
diitant from us, and from sundry places far distant asunder,
marvel we so much that blessed angels and holy s< uls, being
mere spiritual substances, uncharged of all burdenous flesh
and bones, may in doing the same as far pass and exceed us
and our powers natural, as the lively soul self exceedeth our
deadly body, nor cannot believe that they hear us. though
we find they help us, but if we perceive by what means
they do it, as whether they see and hear us [byj coming
hither to us, or our voice coming hence to them, or
whether God hear and see all and show it them, or whether
they behold it in Him, as one doth in a book the thing that
he readeth, or whether. (iod by some other way doth utter it
unto them as one doth in speaking. Except we may

DOGMATIC.

135

know the means we will not else believe the matter. As
wise ux-re he that would not believe he can see because he
cannot perceive by what means he may see.

" Yet see I (quoth he), no cause or need why we should
pray to them, since God can as well and will as gladly both
hear us and help us as any saint in heaven." " What need
you (quoth I) to pray any physician to help your fever, or
pray and pay any surgeon to help your sore leg, since God
can hear you and help you both as well as the best, and
loveth you better and can do it sooner, and may aforth1 His
plasters better cheap, and give you more for your word than
they for your money ? " " But this is His pleasure (quoth
he) that I shall be holpen by the mean of them as His
instruments ; though, indeed, all this He doth Himself,
since He giveth the nature to the things that they do it
with." " So hath it (quoth I) pleased God in likewise that
we shall ask help of His holy saints and pray for help to
them. Nor, that is not a making of them equal unto God
Himself, though they do it by His will and power, or He at
their intercession. Though God will (as reason is) be chief
and have no match, yet forbiddeth He not one man to pray
for help of another. . . . Was Eliseus made equal to God
because the widow prayed Him to revive her dead son ?
And think you, then, that He, being content, and giving
men occasion to pray to them while they were on earth, He
will he angry if we do them as much worship when they be
with Him in heaven? Nay, but I think, on the other side,
since His pleasure is to have His saints had in honour and
prayed unto . . He will disdain once to look on us if we be
so presumptuous and malapert fellows, that upon boldness
1 Dispense.

WI»I>i)M AND WIT.

of familiarity with Himself we disdain to make our mter-

: I is especial beloved friends.

" And where St. Paul exhorteth us each to pray for other,
and we be glad to think it well done to pray every poor
man to pray for us, should we think it evil done to pray
holy saints in heaven to the same? " '' Why ! (<|iioth he)
by that reason I might pray not only to saints, but also to
every other dead man." " So may ye (quoth I) with
reason, if ye see none other likelihood but that he died a
good man. And so find we in the Dialogues of St. ( IP
that one had help by prayer made unto a holy man late
deceased, which was himself yet in purgatory. . . . Those
that be not canonised, ye may for the more part both pray
for them and pray to them, as ye may for and t<> them
that be yet alive. But one that is canonised ye may pray
to him to pray for you, but ye may not pray for him. . . .
And of every man ye may trust well and be seldom certain,
but of the canonised ye may reckon you sure." l

HELP OF ANGELS AND OF SAINTS.

" There appeared unto Him an angel from heaven and
comforted Him " (Luke xxii. 43). Here can I not but
much marvel, what the devil aileth them, that let not to
bear folk in hand that folly were it for a man to «
either any angel or any saint in heaven to pray urt
for him, because we may (say they) boldly make our prayer
to God Himself, who alone is more ready to help us than
are the angels and saints, and set them all together. With
such foolish reasons — and, to say truth, nothing to the pur-
.pose at all — do these fond fellows, for malice they bear

Dialog*, . Works, 188-190.

DOGMATIC. 137

against the honour of saints (and, therefore, may they look
for as little favour of them again), go about, as much as
they may, both to withdraw our good affection from them,
and to take away their wholesome help from us.

Why might not these wretches then with as good reason
say, that the comfort which this angel ministered unto our
Saviour Christ, was utterly vain and needless ? For,
among all the angels in heaven, who was either able to do
so much for Him as was Himself alone, or so near at His
elbow to assist Him, as was God ; and that was He Him
self? But like as it pleased His goodness for our sakes to
suffer sorrow and anguish ; so for our sakes vouchsafed He
also by an angel to be comforted, thereby partly to confute
these triflers' trifling reasons, and partly to prove. Himself
to be a very man.1

USE OF IMAGES.

The flock of Christ is not so foolish as those heretics
bear them in hand, that, whereas there is no dog so mad
but he knoweth a very coney 2 from a coney carved and
painted, Christian people that have reason in their heads,
and thereto the light of faith in their souls, should ween
the images of our Lady were our Lady herself. Nay, they
be not, I trust, so mad, but they do reverence to the image
for the honour of the person whom it representeth, as
every man delighteth in the image and remembrance of his
friend.

And, albeit that every good Christian man hath a re
membering of Christ's passion in his mind, and conceiveth
by dumb meditation a form and fashion thereof in his
1 Treatise on the Passion, Works, 1368. a Real rabbit.

138 \\IMH >\I AND WIT.

yet is there no man (I ween ) so good nor so well
learned, nor in meditation so well a< •« -usiomed. but that he
findeth himself more n.oved to pity and compassion upon
the beholding of the holy crucifix, than when he lacketh it.
And if there^be any that, for the maintenance of his opinion,
will peradventure say that he findeth it otherwise in him
self, he should give me cause to fear that he hath of Christ's
passion, neither the one way nor the other, but a very faint
feeling ; since'that the holy fathers before us did, and all
devout people about us do, find and feel in themselves the
contrary.1

PILGRIMAGES.

In the Gospel (John v. 4) where we read that the i
moved the water, and whoso next went in was cured of his
disease, was it not a sufficient proof that (iod would they
should come thither for their health ? Albeit no man can
tell why He sent the angel rather thither, and there did His
miracles than in another water. But whensoever our Lord
hath in any place wrought a miracle, although He nothing
do it for the place, but for the honour of that saint, whom
He will have honoured in that place, or for the faith that
He findeth with some that prayeth in that place, or for the
increase of faith which He findeth failing and decayed in
that place, needing the show of some miracles for the re
viving — whatsoever the cause be. yet. I think, the aff.
is to be commended of men and women that with
devotion run thither where they see or hear that our Lord
showeth a demonstration of His speci.il a>sistuiuv. And
when He showeth many in one place it is good token that

1 l)ialo»n< . Works, I_M.

DOGMATIC. 139

He would be sought upon, and worshipped there. Many
Jews were there that came to Jerusalem to see the miracle
that Christ had wrought upon Lazarus, as the Gospel re-
hearseth. And surely we were worse than Jews, if we
would be so negligent, that where God worketh miracle we
list not once go move our foot thitherwards. We marvel
much that God showeth no more miracles now-a-days,
when it is much more marvel that He doth vouchsafe to
show any at all among such unkind, slothful, deadly people,
as list not once lift up their heads to look thereon, or that
our incredulity can suffer Him now-a-days to work any.1

CHARGE OF AVARICE AS REGARDS PILGRIMAGES.

"Men reckon, :' quoth he, "that the clergy is glad to
favour these ways, and to nourish this superstition under the
name and colour of devotion, to the peril of the people's
souls, for the lucre and temporal advantage that themselves
receive of the offering."

When I had heard him say what he liked, I demanded
if he minded ever to be a priest. Whereunto he answered :
" Nay, verily ; for methinketh," quoth he, " that there be
priests too many already, unless they were better. And,
therefore, when God shall send time, I purpose," he said,
"to marry." "Well," said I, "then since I am already
married twice, and, therefore, can never be a priest, and ye
be so set in mind of marriage that ye never will be priest,
we two be not the most meekly to ponder what might be
said in this matter for the priest's part. Howbeit, when I
consider it, methinketh surely that if the thing were such as
you say, so far from all frame of right religion and so

1 Dialogue, Works, 123.

140 \\IMx.M AND WIT.

perilous to men's souls, I cannot perceive why that the
clergy would, for the gain they get thereby, suffer such
abusion to continue.

"For first, if it were true that no pilgrimage ou-ht to be
used, none image offered unto, nor worship done, nor
prayer made unto any saint — then, if none of all these
things had ever been in use, or now were all undone, if
that were the right way (as I wot well it were wrong) then
were it to me little question, but Christian people, being in
the true faith, and in the right way to dod-ward. wo-ild
thereby nothing slack their good minds towards the minis
ters of the Church, but their devotion should toward them
more and more increase. So that if they now get by this
way one penny they should (if this be wrong and the other
right) not fail, instead of a penny now, then to re<
groat.1

" Moreover, look me through Christendom, and I suppose
ye shall find the fruits of these offerings a right >mall part
of the living of the clergy, and such as — though x>me few
places would be glad to retain — yet the whole body might
without any notable loss easily forbear. Let us << insider
our own country here, and we shall find these pilgrimages
for the most part in the hands of such religious persons or
such poor parishes as bear no great rule in the Convoca
tions. And besides this, ye shall not find (I supp >se) that
any bishop in England hath the profit of one groat of any
such offering within his diocese. Now stamleth then the
continuance or the breaking of this manner and custom
specially in them who take no profit thereby : who. if they
believed it to be (such as ye call it) superstitious ami wicked,
1 Fourpencc.

DOGMATIC. . 141

would never suffer it to continue to the perishing of men's
souls, whereby themselves should destroy their own souls,
and neither in body nor goods take any commodity.

" And over this we see that the bishops and prelates them
selves visit these holy places and pilgrimages with as large
offerings and as great cost in coming and going as other
people do ; so that they not only take no temporal advan
tage thereof, but also bestow of their own therein.

" And surely I believe this devotion so planted by God's
own hand in the hearts of the whole Church, that is, to wit,
not the clergy only, but the whole congregation of all Chris
tian people, that if the spiritualty were of the mind to leave
it, yet would not the temporally suffer it.

" Nor if it so were that pilgrimages hanged only upon the
covetousness of evil priests — for evil must they be that would
for covetousness help the people forward to idolatry — then
would not good priests and good bishops have used them
theirselves. But I am very sure that many a holy bishop,
and therewith excellently well learned in Scripture and the
law of God, have had high devotion thereto. . . .'J1

CALUMNIATING THE CLERGY.

Where this Pacifier saith that "some say that all spiritual
men as to the multitude do rather induce the people to pil
grimages, pardons, chantries, obits and trentals, than to the
payment of their debts, or to restitution of their wrongs, or
to the deeds of alms and mercy to their neighbours that are
poor and needy, and sometimes too in right extreme neces
sity " ; for my part, I thank God I never yet heard of any one
that ever would give that counsel, nor no more, I see well,

1 Dialogue of Comfort, Works, 120.

I }_> \V|>|iMM AND WIT.

this Pacifier himself, for lie sayeth it hut under his < oinmon
figure of Some-say. I Jut this would I say, that either he
believed those some that so said unto him, or el-e he
believed them not. If he believed them not, it had been
well done to have left their tale untold till he had believed
them better. And on the other side, if he believed them
well, he might as well with conscience have been le» light
of belief, or boldly might have believed that they lied, rather
than lightly believe the lewd words of some, and upon the
malicious mouths of some, blow abroad in books so false a
tale himself against not a small some, but as himself saith as
to the multitude against all spiritual men.1

ROBBING THE CHURCH FOR THE POOR.

Luther wished, in a sermon of his, that he had in his hand
all the pieces of the Holy Cross, and saith that if he so
had, he would throw them there as never sun should shine
on them. And for what worshipful reason would the
wretch do such villany to the Cross of Christ ? Because, as
he saith, that there is so much gold now bestowed about
the garnishing of the pieces of the Cross, that there is none
left for poor folk. Is not this a high reason ? As though
all the gold that is now bestowed about the pieces of the
Holy Cross would not have failed to have been given to
poor men ! And as though there were nothing lost but what
is bestowed about Christ's Cross !

Take all the gold that is spent about all the pie<

Christ's Cross throughout Christendom — albeit many a good

Christian prince and other goodly people hath honourably

garnished many pieces thereof — yet if all the gold were

1 Apology, ch. xx., Works, 880.

DOGMATIC.

'43

gathered together it would appear a poor portion in com
parison of the gold that is bestowed upon cups. What
speak we of cups in which the gold, albeit that it be not
given to poor men, yet is it saved, and may be given in
alms when men will, which they never will ? How small a
portion were the gold about all the pieces of Christ's Cross
if it were compared with the gold that is quite cast away
about the gilding of knives, swords, spurs, arras and painted
clothes ; and, as though these things could not consume
gold fast enough, the gilding of posts and whole roses, not
only in the palaces of princes and great prelates, but also
many right mean men's houses. And yet among all these
things could Luther spy no gold that grievously glittered in
his bleared eyes, but only about the Cross of Christ. For
that gold, if it were taken thence, this wise man weeneth it
would be strait given to poor men ; and that, when he daily
seeth that such as have their purse full of gold give to the
poor not one piece thereof. But if they give aught, they
ransack the bottom among all the gold to seek out here a
halfpenny, or in his country a brass penny, whereof four
make a farthing. Such goodly causes find they that pretend
holiness for the colour of their cloaked heresies.1

A CALUMNY.

Now when Tindale asketh me why the bishop selleth the
oil unto the curates wherewith they anoint the sick ; there
to I say that the bishop sendeth it to the curates because
they should therewith anoint the sick in the sacrament of
anoiling. But why he selleth it to the curates, if he so did,
thereof can I not tell the cause, but if it were peradventure
1 Dialogue, Works, 119.

144 \M>I»OM AND \vir.

IM lie would he paid therefor. I Jut I can toll well that
the bishop solleth it not to curates, nor no man else, but the
curates havelt sent them free; but if they reward the
bringer of their courtesy with a groat, which brin^er i> yet
the archdeacon's servant and not the bishop's. And this I
can tell, for I have inquired for the nonce, and by tl.
I tell as well that Tindale here belieth the bishop shame
fully for the nonce.1

THE FIRE OF HI-.I.I..

Verely it seemeth that they would set the people upon
mirth ; for penance they shake off as a thing not ne<v
satisfaction they call great sin, and confession they call the
devil's drift. And of purgatory by two means they put men
out of dread; some by sleeping till doomsday, and some by
sending all straight to heaven, every soul that dieth and is not
damned for ever. And yet some good comfort give they to
the damned too. For till they see some time to deny hell
all utterly, they go about in the mean season to put out the
fire. And some yet boldly forthwith to say there is none
there, that they dread a little, and therefore for the season
they bring the matter in question and dispute it abroad, and
say they will not utterly affirm and say the contrary, but
the thing is, they say, but as problema nentntm, wherein
they would not force [fare] whether part they should take ;
and if they should choose they would rather hold nay than
yea ; or, though there be fire in either place, that yet it
neither burneth soul in hell nor paineth soul in f)uruatory.

But Christ (I wot well) in many places saith there is fire
there, and His holy saints after Him affirm and say the

1 Con/, of Tindale, Works, 431.

DOGMATIC. 145

same, and with the fire He fraid [caused to fear] His own dis
ciples, bidding them fear that fire that they fall not 'therein.

For, though that clerks may in schools hold problems
upon everything, yet can I not perceive what profit there
can come to call it but a problem among unlearned folk,
and dispute it out abroad, and bring the people in doubt,
and make them rather think that there is none than any,
and that this word fire is spoken but by parable, as those
men make the eating of Christ's blessed body. Thus shall
they make men take both paradise and heaven, and God
and all together but for parables at last.

Though fear of hell alone be but a servile dread, yet are
there already too many that fear hell too little, even of them
that believe the truth, and think that in hell there is very-
fire indeed. How many will there be that will fear it less if
such words once may make them ween that there were in
hell no very fire at all, but that the pain that they shall feel
in hell were but after the manner of some heavy mind or of
a troublous dream ?

If a man believe Christ's word that in hell is fire indeed,
and make the fear of that fire one means to keep him
thence, then, though there were no fire there, yet hath he
nothing lost, since good he can get none there though the
fire were thence. But if he believe such words on the other
side, and catch thereby such boldness that he set hell at
light, and by the means thereof fall boldly to sin, and there
upon finally fall down unto the devil ; if he then find fire there,
as I am sure he shall, then shall he lie there and curse
them that told him those false tales, as long as God with
His good folk sitteth in the heaven.1

1 Answer to the Masker, Works, 1120.

TO

\VI>I>.)M AM. WIT.

Till. MAIN rAlNERS AND DI.NN i I DRY.

Surely, if three or four hundred good and honest men
would faithfully come forth and tell one that some of his
friends were in a far country for debt kept in prison, and
that his charity might relieve them thence ; if then, three or
four fond fellows would come and say the contrary, and tell
him plain there is no such prison at all ; if he would now
be so light as to believe those three or four naughty persons
against those three or four hundred good and honest men,
he then should well decipher himself, and well declare
thereby that he would gladly catch hold of some
handle to keep his money fast, rather than help his friends
in their necessity.

Now, if these men will perad venture say that they < are
not for such comparison neither of time with time, number
with number, nor company with company, but — since some
one man is in credence with some seven score— if they will,
therefore, call us to some other reckoning and will that we
compare of the best choice on both sides a certain.1 and
match them man for man ; then have we (if we might for
shame match such blessed saints with a sort so far unlike)
St. Austin against Friar Luther, St. Jerome against Friar
Lambert, St. Ambrose against Friar Huskin [CFcolampadius],
St. Gregory against Friar Pomerane, St. Chrysostom against
Tindale, and St. Basil against the Beggars' proctor (Simon
Fish).

Now, if our enemies will, for lack of other choice, help
forth their own part with their wives, then have they some
advantage indeed, for the other holy saints had none. But

1 A certain is a selection, a certain number.

DOGMATIC. 147

yet shall we not lack blessed holy women against these
friars' wives. For we shall have St. Anastasia against Friar-
Luther's wife, St. Hildegard against Friar Huskin's wife,
St. Bridget against Friar Lambert's wife, and St. Catharine of
Siena against Priest Pomerane's wife.1

PURGATORY AND INDULGENCES.

Tindale, — " What great fear can there be of that terrible
fire, which thou mayst quench almost for three halfpence ?"

More. — Nay, surely, that fire is not so lightly quenched
that folk should upon the boldness of pardons stand out
of the fear of purgatory. For likewise, as though the
sacrament of penance be able to put away the eternality of
the pain, yet hath the party for all that cause to fear both
purgatory and hell too, lest some default upon his own part
letted God in the sacrament to work such grace in him as
should serve therefor ; so, though the pardon be able to
discharge a man of purgatory, yet may there be such default
in the party to whom the pardon is granted, though he give
for [instead of] three halfpence, three hundred pounds,
yet shall he receive no pardon at all. And, therefore, can
he not be for three halfpence out of fear of purgatory, but
ever hath cause to fear it. For no man, except revelation,
can be sure whether he be partner of the pardon or not,
though he may have, and ought to have, both in that and
•every good thing, good hope.

And if the fear of purgatory were so clear gone, because
it might be quenched with the cost of three halfpence, then
*vere the fear of hell gone, too, by Tindale's teaching, since

1 Supplication of Souls, Works, 330.

148 WISDOM AND WIT.

bare faith and slight repentance putteth out that fire clean
without the cost of a penny.1

I'Kivii.KiiKs OF MARTYRDOM.

If I should hap to find a man that had lon^ lived a very
virtuous life, and had at last happed to fall into the Turks'
hands, and there did abide by the truth of his faith and with
the suffering of all kind of torments taken upon his body,
still did teach and testify the truth ; if I should in his
passion give him spiritual comfort, might I be bold to tell
him no farther, but that he should take patience in his pain,
and that God sendeth it him for his sin, and that he is well
worthy to have it, although it were yet much more;* He
might then well answer me, and such other comforters,
as Job answered his : " Burdenous and heavy comforters
be you ". Nay, I would not fail to bid him boldly, while
I should see him in his passion, cast sin, and hell, and
purgatory, and all upon the devil's pate, and doubt not. but
like as if he gave over his hold all his merit were lost, and
he 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 : that if there \\ <
Christian man that had among those infidels committed a
very deadly crime, such as were worthy death not by their
laws only but by Christ's too, as manslaughter or adultery,
or such other thing like, if when he were taken he were
offered pardon of his life upon condition that he should
forsake the faith of Christ ; if this man would now rather
suffer death than so do, should I comfort him in his pain
1 Con/, of Tindolc, Works, 476.

DOGMATIC. 149

hut as I would a malefactor ? Nay, this man, though he
should have died for his sin, dieth now for Christ's sake
while he might live still if he would forsake Him. The
bare patient- taking of his death should have served for
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 thereof 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, all had he been before
a devil, nothing after would I doubt to take him for a
martyr.1

FREE WILL.

Every good Christian man seeth well enough that the
Lutherans are wickedly occupied in seeking (as David says)
excuses for their sin. For there is no man that doth such
deeds against his will. And therefore, when Tindale telleth
us that Luther and he, and such other true members of their
Church, " when they commit such horrible deeds, do not
commit them willingly," because they commit them " on
great occasions," and be carried away spite of their teeth
" with the rage of the sin that breaketh out of their mem
bers " ; saving my charity, sir, I bestrew their knavish
members. Let them cast on cold water with sorrow and
quench the rage.2

1 Dialogue of Comfort, Works, 1150.
- Cotif. of Tindale, Works, 555.

'50

\\I-DOM AND wrr.

Pui.m.M IN A i [ON TO K\ II ..

If his [Barns'] own secret hostess, the good wife of the
Bottle, of Botolph's Wharf, that (but if she be better
amended) halteth both in body and soul, were in the
congregation, and then would hymp * forth among them and
say : " By St. Malkin,2 Father Barns, all your tokens of the
very true Church will not stand me in the stead of a tavern
token,8 nor of a mustard token neither. For I may for the
one be sure of a new-baken bun, and for the other I may
be sure of a pot of mustard ; but for your two tokens of
your holy Church I cannot be sure of one farthing-worth of
true doctrine for them both. For how shall I perceive that
any true members of your holy Church (in only whom ye
say is the true faith) be present in company when your
tokens be (a) the true preaching of Scripture, and (/>} the
good living after the Scripture ? How can I get any good
by those two tokens when I cannot read at all ? "

What could Friar Barns say to his hostess here ? Surely
nothing hath he, but should in the end be fain to fall to the
destiny of God's election, and say that when they come to
the preaching all those that are elect of God shall be
secretly moved and taught inwardly, and shall, by the
instinct of the Spirit of God, though they know not whether
the person be good or no that preacheth, perceive yet the
true word of God upon the hearing, and shall understand it,
as Tindale saith that the eagle pen eiveth her prey. And
the other sort, whom God doth not choose, though they
hear it shall not understand it, but, whether the preacher
be good or bad, they shall be never the better, nor shall not

1 i.e., limp. - A fantastic oath. Sign— signboard.

DOGMATIC. 151

discern the true preacher from the false, but be deceived by
the false, and not perceive the true, for anything that they
can do. And here this anchor in conclusion shall he .be
fain to cast out, with which, when he would ween to stay
the ship, he draweth it quite under the water. For I ween
his hostess would soon have said somewhat thereto. For I
wot well she is not tongue-tied ; I have heard her talk
myself.

She would, I ween, therefore have said unto him thus
much at the leastwise: "Why, Father Barns, when God
calleth upon us all, and we come together at His calling,
and my neighbour and I come both to Church with one
purpose — to learn the right way to heaven — would you make
me ween that God were so partial that, without any difference
of cause between her and me, I being as well willing to
learn to please Him as she, that when I have at His calling
followed Him so far as well as she (and with somewhat
more pain, too, for I halt, ye wot well), He will, for all that I
halt, make her perceive the truth, and go forth farther with
Him, till He bring her to heaven, and leave me still in
darkness and ignorance, and let me fall into hell, for none
other cause but only for He list to choose her and leave me
unchosen? If He gave her more than me for His only
pleasure, I could find no fault. But, marry, sir, that He
would give her all, and me not only nothing, but also con
demn me to perpetual fire, because Himself would not
cause me to perceive the truth ; and no cause why He
would not, but because He would not choose me, and no
cause why He would not choose me, but only because He
would not : — in good faith, I take God for so good that I can
nevei believe you therein. ... It were an evil master that

I qj \VI>I»<)M \N|i \\ I I.

would call many children to school, and when he had thjm
there, then set divers ushers under him to teach them, and
would make some, whom he favoured causeless, to he taught
right, and suffer some, whom he hated as causeless, to he taught
wrong, and after come and hear all their lessons himself, and
those that have been taught right, make much of them ?nd
cherish them because they say right, and those that have been
wrong taught, all to chide them and beat them because they
say wrong. In good faith, Father Barns, I take (lod to: so
good, that I cannot believe that He would do so. But
rather, as these common preachers1 say, that God hath pro
vided sufficient learning for all sorts, of which they may be
sure if they will come to it," etc.2

PRACTICAL ADVICE IN CONTROVERSIES.
Now, if any man will bear other in hand that this point
or that point is not determined,8 or that the doctors of the
Church write not in such wise, but the contrary, then, who
soever is not of such learning as to perceive by himself
whether of these two say true that hold therein contrary
parts, then, except the article be a plain, open, known thing
of itself, not doubted of before, let him not be light of
evidence in the believing either the one disputer or the
other, though they would both preach high praises of their
own cunning, and say that, beside all their much worldly
business, they had spent many years about the study of
Scripture, and boast that their books of divinity were worth
never so much money, or that by the spirit they were in-

1 Catholic priests.

- Cow/, of Tindalc, book viii., Works, 766.

3 The context shows that the meaning is that there has been no
definition or clear teaching of the Church on the subject.

DOGMATIC. 153

spired, and with the celestial dew suddenly sprung up
divines, as lusty, fresh, and green as after any shower of
rain ever sprung any bed of leeks. Let no man (I say) be
light in believing them for all that, but let him, by my poor
counsel, pray God inspire himself to believe and follow the
thing that may be His high pleasure, and let him thereupon
appoint with himself to live well, and forthwith to begin well,
get himself a good ghostly father, and shrive him of his sins ;
and then, concerning the question, ask advice and counsel
of those whom himself thinketh, between God and his new
cleansed conscience, for learning and virtue most likely,
without any partial leaning, indifferently to tell him the truth.1

LAST WORDS OF BLESSED MORE'S CONTROVERSIAL WORKS.
Of whose false, wily folly to beware our Lord give us
grace, and of all such other like, which with foolish
arguments of their own blind reason, wresting the Scripture
into a wrong sense against the very plain words of the text,
against the exposition of all the old holy saints, against the
determination of divers whole general councils, against the
full consent of all true Christian nations this fifteen hundred
years before their days, and against the plain declaration of
Almighty God Himself made in every Christian country by
so many plain, open miracles, labour now to make us so
foolishly blind and mad as to forsake the very fue Catholic
faith, forsake the society of the true Catholic Church, and
with sundry sects of heretics fallen out thereof to set both
holy days and fasting days at naught, and for the devil's
pleasure to forbear and abstain from all prayer to be made
either for souls or to saints, jest on our Blessed Lady,
1 Apology, Works, 927.

-54

\vn.

tin- immaculate Mother of Christ, make mocks of all
pilgrimages and creeping to Christ's Cross, the hoh
monies of the Church and the sacraments too, turn them
into trifling with likening them to wine garlands and ale-
poles ; and, finally, by these ways, in the end and con
clusion, forsake our Saviour in the blessed sacrament, and
instead of His own blessed body and blood, ween there
were nothing but bare bread and wine, and call it idolatry
there to do Him honour.

But woe may such wretches be ! For this we may be
sure, that whoso dishonour God in one place with occasion
of a false faith, — standing that false belief and infidelity,
all honour that he doeth Him anywhere beside is odious
and despiteful and rejected of God, and never shall
that faithless soul from the fire of hell. From which, our
Lord, give them grace truly to turn in time, so that we and
they together in one Catholic Church knit unto God to
gether in one Catholic faith — faith, I say, not faith alone as
they do, but accompanied with good hope and with her
chief sister well-working charity, may so receive Christ's
blessed sacraments here, and specially that we may so
receive Himself, His very blessed body, very flesh and
blood, in the blessed sacrament, our holy blessed housel.
that we may here be with Him incorporate so by grace, that
after the short course of this transitory life, with His tender
pity poured upon us in purgatory, at the prayer of good
people and intercession of holy saints, we may be with them
in their holy fellowship incorporate in Christ in His eternal
glory. Amen.

End of Fifth Book of Treatise on Blcss.nl Sncraniciit against the Masker %
Works, 1138.

PART THE THIRD.

ILLUSTRATIVE OF THE PERIOD.

ILLUSTRATIVE OF THE PERIOD.

LONDON WONDERS.

More. — Who would not ween it impossible, but if ex
perience had proved it, that the whole earth hangeth in the
air, and men walk foot against foot, and ships sail bottom
against bottom, a thing so strange, and seeming so far
against nature and reason that Lactantius, a man right wise
and well learned, in his work which he writeth — De divinis
institutionibus — reckoneth it for impossible, and letteth not
to laugh at the philosophers for affirming of the point ;
which is yet now founden true by experience of them that
have in less than two years sailed the world round about ?

It is not yet fifty years ago since the first man, as far as
men have heard, came to London, that ever parted the
gilt from the silver, consuming shortly the silver into dust
with a very fair water. In so far forth, that when the finers
and goldsmiths of London heard first thereof they nothing
wondered thereof but laughed thereat as at an impossible
lie, in which persuasions, if they had continued still, they
had yet at this day lacked all that cunning.

Yet will I not say nay but that a man may be light in belief
and be by such ensamples brought in to believe too far.
As a good fellow and friend of mine late, in talking of this
matter of marvels and miracles, intending merrily to make
me believe for a truth a thing that could never be, first

(is?)

158 WISDOM AND wn.

brought in what a force the fire hath that will make two
pieces of iron able to be joined and cleave together, and
with the help of the hammer be made both one, which no
hammering could do without the fire. Which thing, because
I daily see, I assented. Then, said he, further, that it was
more marvel that the fire should make iron to run as silver
or lead doth, and make it take a print. Which thing I
told him I had never seen, but because he had seen it I
thought it to be true. Soon after this, he would have me to
believe that he had seen a piece of silver of two or three
inches about, and in length less than a foot, drawn by man's
hand through strait holes made in an iron till it was brought
in thickness not half-an-inch about, and in length drawn
out I cannot tell how many yards. And when I heard him
say that he saw this himself, then I wot well he was merrily
disposed.

Messenger. — Marry, it was high time to give him over
when he came to that.

More. — Well, what if I should tell you now that I had
seen the same ?

Messenger. — By my faith, I would believe it at leisure
when I had seen the same, and in the meanwhile I could
not let you to say your pleasure in your own house ; but I
would think you were disposed merrily to make me a fool.

More. — Well, what if there would, besides me, ten or
twenty good honest men tell you the same tale, and that
they had all seen the thing done themselves ?

Messenger. — In faith, since I am sent hither to believe
you, I would in that point believe yourself alone, as well as
them all.

More. — Well, ye mean ye would believe us all alike.

ILLUSTRATIVE OF THE PERIOD. 159

But what would you then say if one or twain of them would
say more ?

Messenger. — Marry, then would I believe the less.

More. — What if they would show you that they have seen
that the piece of silver was over-gilt, and the same piece
being still drawn through the holes, the gilt not rubbed off,
but still go forth in length with the silver, so that all the
length of many yards was gilded of the gilding of the first
piece not a foot long ?

Messenger. — Surely, sir, those twain that would tell me so
much more I would say were not so cunning in the main
tenance of a lie as was the pilgrim's companion, which, when
his fellow had told at York that he had seen of late at
London a bird that covered all Paul's churchyard with his
wings, coming to the same place on the morrow, said that he
saw not that bird, but he heard much speech thereof: but
he saw in Paul's churchyard an egg so great that ten men
could scant move it with levers. This fellow could help it
forth with a proper side way. But he were no proper under-
propper of a lie that would minish his credence with affirm
ing all the first, and setting a louder lie thereto.

More. — Well, then I have espied if ten should tell you so,
you would not believe them.

Messenger. — No, not if twenty should.

More. — What if a hundred would that seem good and
credible ?

Messenger. — If they were ten thousand they were not of
credence with me when they should tell me that they saw the
thing that myself knoweth by nature and reason impossible.
For, when I know it could not be done, I know well that they
lie all, be they never so many, that say they saw it done.

160 WIMMiM ANh Wll.

More. — Well, sine . 11 ye would not in this point

believe a whole town, ye have put me to silence, that I dare
not now be bold to tell you that I have seen it myself. Urn
surely, if witness would have served me, I ween I might have
brought you a great many good men that would say and
swear too that they have seen it themselves. Hut now shall
1 provide me to-morrow peradventure a couple of witnesses
of whom I wot well ye will mistrust neither.

Messenger. — Who be they? for it were hard to find whom
I could better trust than yourself, whom, whatsoever I have
merrily said, I could not in good faith but believe you in
that you should tell me earnestly upon your own knowledge.
But ye use (my master saith) to look so sadly [seriously]
when ye mean merrily, that many times men doubt whether
ye speak in sport when ye mean good earnest.

More. — In good faith I mean good earnest, now ; and yet
as well as ye dare trust me, I shall as I said, if ye will go
with me, provide a couple of witnesses of whom ye will
believe any one better than twain of me, for they be your
own friends, and ye have been better acquainted with them,
and such as, I dare say for them, be not often wont to lie.

Messenger. — Who be they, I pray you ?

More. — Marry, your own two eyes; for I shall, if you will,
bring you where you shall see it, no further hence than even
here in London. And as for iron and laten [brass] to be so
drawn in length, ye shall see it done in twenty shops almost
in one street.1

STRANGENESS.

More. — We wonder nothing at the ebbing and flown
1 Dialogue, Works, 126.

ILLUSTRATIVE OF THE PERIOD. l6l

the sea or the Thames because we daily see it. But he that
had never seen it nor heard thereof would at the first sight
wonder sore thereat, to see that great water come wallowing
up against the wind, keeping a common course to and fro,
no cause perceived that driveth it. If a man born blind
had suddenly his sight, wrhat wonder would he make to see
the sun, the moon and the stars ; whereas one that hath seen
them sixteen years together, marvelleth not so much of them
all, as he would wonder at the very first sight of a peacock's
tail.

If ye never had seen any gun in your days nor heard of
any before, if two men should tell you, the one that he had
wist [known] a man in a Pater Noster while l conveyed and
carried a mile off, from one place to another by miracle, and
the other should tell you that he had seen a stone more
than a man's weight carried more than a mile in as little
space by craft, which of these would you, by your faith,
take for the more incredible? Surely, quoth he, both
twain were very strange. But yet I could not choose but
think it were rather true that God did the one than that
any craft of man could do the other.2

TRUE AND FALSE MIRACLES.

Messenger. — Some priest, to bring up a pilgrimage in his
parish, may devise some false fellow feigning himself to
come seek a saint in his church, and there suddenly say
that he hath gotten his sight. Then shall ye have the bells
rung for a miracle, and the fond folk of the country soon
made fools. Then women coming thither with their

1 During the space of time required to say the " Our Father ".
- Dialogue, Works, 132.

II

163 WIMiOM AND \VI I.

< andlcs, and the parson, buying ot" sonic lain. ihree

or four pair of their old crutches, with twelve pence spent in
men and women of wax, thrust through divers place-. M>me
with arrows and some with rusty knives, will make his
offerings for one seven year worth twice his tithes.

More. — There is very truth that such things may he. and
sometimes so be indeed. I have heard my father tell of a
beggar1 that in King Henry's days, the sixth, came with his
wife to St. Alban's, and there was walking about the town
begging, a five or six days before the king's coming thither,
saying that he was born blind and never saw in his life, and
was warned in his dream that he should -come out of
Berwick, where he said he had ever dwelled, to se<
Alban, and there he had been at his shrine and had not
been holpen. And therefore he would go seek him at some
other place, for he had heard some say, since he came, that
St. Alban's holy body should be at Cologne, and, indeed,
such a contention hath there been. But of truth, as I am
surely informed, he lieth here at St. Alban's, saving -<>me
relics of him which they there show shrined.

But to tell you forth. When the king was come, and the
town full, suddenly this blind man at St. Alban's shrine had
his sight again, and a miracle solemnly rung and " Te Deum "
sung, so that nothing was talked of in all the town but this
miracle. So happened it then, that Duke Humph i
Gloucester, a great wise man and very well learned, having
great joy to see such a miracle, called the poor man unto
him. And, first showing himself joyous of God's gl<
showed in the getting of his sight, and exhorting him to

'This story has been introduced by Shakespeare into the Second
Part of Henry VI., act ii. scene i.

ILLUSTRATIVE OK THE PERIOD. 163

meekness and to non-ascribing of any part [of] the worship l
to himself, nor to be proud of the people's praise, which
would call him a good and goldly man thereby. At last
he looked well upon his eyes, and asked whether he could
never see nothing at all in all his life before. And when as
well his wife as himself affirmed fastly no, then he looked
advisedly upon his eyes again and said : " I believe you
very well, for methinketh that ye cannot see well yet".
"Yes, sir" (quoth he), "I thank God and his holy martyr I
can see now as well as any man.:' " Ye can ? " quoth the
duke; "what colour is my gown?" When anon the
beggar told him, " What colour," quoth he, " is this man's
gown ? " He told him also, and so forth without any
sticking he told him the names of all the colours that could
be showed him. And when my lord saw that, he bade him
walk faitor,2 and made him be set openly in the stocks.
For though he could have seen suddenly by miracle the
difference between divers colours, yet could he not by the
sight so suddenly tell the names of all these colours, but if
he had known them before, no more than the names of all
the men that he should suddenly see.3

After this and other tales of imposture, Sir Thomas shows that
false miracles neither disprove true miracles, nor make all miracles
doubtful, but merely show the necessity of precaution and of proper
tests.

I am sure, though ye see some white sapphire or berill
so well counterfeit, and so set in a ring, that a right good
jeweller will take it for a diamond, yet will ye not doubt for
all that, but that there be in many other rings already set

1 i.e., honour or merit. 2 i.e., stand forth as an impostor.
3 Dialogue, Works, 134.

164 WIMJMM AND \\ll.

right diamonds indeed. Nor ye will not mistrust St. IV-tci
for Juda>. \'e be wiser than the gentlewoman was, which,
in talking once with my father, when she heard say that
our Lady was a Jew, first could not believe it, but said :
"What! ye mock, I wis. I pray you tell truth:" And
when it was so fully affirmed that she at last believed it.
"And was she a Jew?" quoth she; "so help me God and
haiidom, I shall love her the worse while I live ". I am sure
ye will not so, nor mistrust all for some, neither men nor
miracles. Among miracles I durst boldly tell you for one
the wonderful work of God that was within these few years
wrought in the house of a right worshipful knight, Sir I
Wenworth, upon divers of his children, and specially one of
his daughters, a very fair young gentlewoman of twelve
years of age, in marvellous manner vexed and tormented by
our ghostly enemy the devil, her mind alienated and raving
with despising and blasphemy of God, and hatred of all
hallowed things, with knowledge and perceiving of the
hallowed from the unhallowed, all were she nothing warned
thereof. And after that, moved in her own mind, and
monished by the will of God, to go to our Lady of Ipswich.
In the way of which pilgrimage she prophesied and told
many things done and said at the same time in other places,
which were proved true ; and many things said lying in her
trance, of such wisdom and learning that right cunning nun
highly marvelled to hear of so young an unlearned maiden,
when herself wist not what she said, such things uttered
and spoken as well-learned men might have missed with a
long study. And finally, l>eing brought and laid before the
image of our Blessed Lady, was there, in the sight of man)
worshipful people, so grievously tormented, and in lure.

ILLUSTRATIVE OF THE PERIOD. 165

eyes, look, and countenance so grisly changed, with her
mouth drawn aside and her eyes laid out upon her cheeks,
that it was a terrible sight to behold. And after many
marvellous things at that same time showed upon divers
persons by the devil, through God's sufferance, as well all
the remnant as the maiden herself, in the presence of all
the company restored to their good state perfectly cured
and suddenly.

And in this matter no pretext of begging ; no suspicion
of feigning, no possibility of counterfeiting ; no simpleness
in the seers ; her father and mother right honourable and
rich, sore abashed to see such chances in their children ;
the witnesses great number, and many of great worship,
wisdom and good experience ; the maid herself too young
to feign, and the fashion itself too strange for any man to
feign. And the end of the matter virtuous, the virgin so
moved in her mind with the miracle that she forthwith, for
aught her father could do, forsook the world and pro
fessed religion in a very good and godly company. of the
Minoresses, where she hath lived well and graciously ever
since.1

SUPERSTITIOUS DEVOTION TO SAINTS.

Messenger. — Some saints serve for the eye only and
some for a sore breast ; St. Germain only for children,
and yet will he not even look at them, but if the
mother bring with them a white loaf and a pot of good
ale. And yet is he wiser than St. Wilgefort, for the good
soul is (as they say) served and content with oats ; whereof
I cannot perceive the reason, but if it be because she would

1 Dialogue, Works, 137.

I M> \\ I-IH i.M AND \\ II .

provide- a hoise lor an evil husband to ride to the devil
upon. For that is the thing that she is to he sought :
they say. Insomuch that women hath therefore <•!..
her name, and instead of Wilgefort call her St. Uncumber,
because they reckon that for a peck of oats she will not fail
to uncumber them of their husbands.

More. — In good faith somewhat indeed it is you say : tor
evil it is and evil it is suffered, that superstitious manner
of worship. Touching the offering of bread and ale to St.
Germain, I see nothing much amiss therein. I ha\e myself
seen sometimes, yet am I not remembered that ever I saw
priest or clerk fare the better therefor, or once drink thereof ;
but is given to children or poor folk to pray for the sick
child. And I would ween it were none offence in such
fashion to offer up a whole ox and distribute it among poor
people.

We will come to Paul's1 and the superstitious manner and
unlawful petitions. If women there offer oats unto St.
Wilgefort, in trust that they shall uncumber them of their
husbands, yet can neither the priests perceive, till they find
it there, that the foolish women bring oats thither: nor
is it not, I think, so often done, nor so much brought at
once, that the church may make much money of it above
the finding of2 the canons' horses.

Messenger. — Nay all the oats of a whole year's offering
will not find three geese and a gander a week together.

More. — Well then the priests maintain not the matter for

any great covetise, and also that the peevish women pray

they cannot hear. Howbeit if they pray but to be tincum-

bered meseemeth no great harm nor unlawfulness therein.

1 St. Paul's Cathedral, London. viding for.

ILLIMKATIVE OF THE PERIOD. l6j

For that may they by more ways than one. They may be
uncumbered if their husbands change their cumbrous con
ditions or if they themselves perad venture change their
cumbrous tongues, which is haply the cause of all their
cumbrance ; and finally, if they cannot be uncumbered but
by death, yet it may be by their own, and so their husbands
safe enough.

Messenger. — Nay, nay, ye find them not such fools, I
warrant you. They make their covenants in their bitter
prayers as surely as [if] they were penned, and will not cast
away their oats for nought.

More. — Well, to all these matters is one evident easy
answer, that they nothing touch the effect of our matter,
which standeth in this, whether the thing that we speak of,
as praying to saints, going to pilgrimage and worshipping
relics and images, may be done well, not whether it may be
done evil. . . . And touching the evil petitions, though
they that ask them were (as I trust they be not) a great
people,1 they be not yet so many that ask evil petitions of
saints, as there be that ask the same of God Himself; for
whatsoever they will ask of any good saint they will ask of
God also. . . . Shall we therefore find a fault with every
man's prayer, because thieves pray for speed in robberies ? '2

AN IMAGE WITH RELICS.

Myself saw at the Abbey of Barking, beside London, to my
remembrance about thirty years past,3 in the setting an old
image in a new tabernacle, the back of the image being all
plated over, and of long time before laid with beaten gold,

1 Multitude. 2 Dialogue, Works, 194-199.

' Sir Thomas writes in 1528.

\Vl>I»iM AND Wll.

happened t in one place, and out there fell a pretty

little door, at which fell out also many relics that had l>een
unknown in that image (lod wot how long ; and as long had
l)een likely to lie again if God by that chance had not
brought them to light. The Bishop of London - came then
thither to see there were no deceit therein. And I among
others was present there while he looked thereon and
examined the matter. And in good faith it was to me a
marvel to behold the manner of it. I have forgotten much
thereof, but I remember a little piece of wood then
rudely shaped in cross, with thread wrapped about it.
Writing had it none, and what it was we could not tell, but
it seemed as new cut as if it had been done within one day
before. And divers relics had old writings on them and
some had none, but among others were there certain small
kerchiefs which were named there our Lady's, and of her
own working. Coarse were they not, nor they were not
large, but served as it seemed to cast in a plain and simple
manner upon her head. But surely they were as clean
seams to my seeming as ever I saw in my life, and were
therewith as white for all that long lying as if they had been
washed and laid up within one hour. And how long that
image had standen in that old tabernacle that could no man
tell, but there had in all the church none as they thought
standen longer untouched. And they guessed that lour or live
hundred years ago the image was hidden when the abbey
was burned by infidels, and those relics hidden therein, and
after the image found and set up many years alter when
they were gone that had hid it.

1 Crack. - The Bishop in 1498 was Thoma

3 Dialogue, Works, 192.

ILLUSTRATIVE OF THE PERIOD. 169

FORMER HATRED OF HERESY.

This decay from chastity by declination into foul and
filthy talking hath begun a great while ago, and is very far
grown on. But the time hath been even until now very late
that, albeit of fleshly wantonness, men have not letted to
use themselves in words both lewd and very large ; yet of
one thing ever would every good man be well ware, that
heresy would he no man suffer to talk at his table, but
would both rebuke and detect it too, although the thing
touched his own born brother. Such hath been till of late
the common Christian zeal towards the Catholic faith.1

ATHEISTS.

The prophet testifieth : "The fool hath said in his heart
there is no God ". With the mouth the most foolish will
forbear to say it unto other folk, but in the heart they let
not to say it softly to themselves. And I fear me there be
many more such fools than every man would ween there
were, and would not let to say it openly too, if they forbore
it not more for the dread of shame of men, than for any fear
of God.'2

THE CARTHUSIANS.

\s for the monks of the Charterhouse, would God we
were no farther from very virtuous devotion than these good
men be from unlawful superstition, among whom, God be
thanked, we see many live to very great age, and never
heard I yet any died for lack of eating flesh, and yet heard
I never that any of them have eaten any, saving some such

1 Answer to the Masker, Works, 1035.
- Dialogue of Comfort, Works, 1230.

I 70 \\ IMx.M AM) \\ II .

•me from their cloisters into Luther's Church, as
Otho did in Almain, which ran out of the Churteii.
and left fish, and fell to flesh altogether, and took a wile
for soberness and chastising of his monkly memln
Tindale speaketh.1

CONFISCATION OF CHURCH PROPERTY,

To say the truth, much marvel have I to see some folk
now so much and so boldly speak of taking away any pos
sessions of the clergy. For, albeit that once in the time of
the famous prince, King Henry IV., about the time of a
great rumble that the heretics made, when they would have-
destroyed, not the clergy only, but the king also and his
nobility too, there was a foolish bill and a false put into a
parliament or twain, and sped as they were worthy ; yet had
I never founden in all my time while I was conversant in
the court, of all the nobility of this land above the number
of seven (of which seven there are now three dead) that
ever I perceived to be of the mind, that it were either right
or reasonable, or could be to the realm profitable, without
lawful cause, to take any possessions away from the clergy,
which good and holy princes and other devout virtuous
people, of whom there be now many blessed saints in
heaven, have, of devotion toward God, given to the clergy,
to serve God and pray for all Christian souls.

We be sure enough that good men were they that

1 Co;//, of Tindalc, Works, 397.

- Apology, Works, 885. More elsewhere notes that he
disjunctively. He does not assert that he knew seven or even one
who maintained that it was right to confiscate Church property. If
seven had said it would be profitable, provided it were lawful, his
words would be true.

ILLUSTRATIVE OF THE PERIOD. 1 71

this gear into the Church, and therefore naught1 should they
he of likelihood, that would pull it out thence again. To
which ravin and sacrilege our Lord (we trust) shall never
suffer this realm to fall. Holy St. Austin, in his days, when
he perceived that some evil people murmured at the posses
sions that then were given into his church, did, in an open
sermon among all thelpeople, offer them their lands again,
and that his church and he would forsake them, and bade
them take them who would. And yet there was not found
in all that town — albeit that these people were (as these
Africans be) very barbarous, fierce, and boisterous2 — yet
was there none, as we say, found any one so bad, that his
heart would serve him to enter into one foot.

When Pharao the King of Egypt bought up, in the dear
years, all the lands that were in every man's hand, so that
all the people were fain to sell their inheritance for hunger;
yet, idolater as he was, he would never suffer, for any need,
the possessions of the priests to be sold, but made provision
for them beside, and suffered them to keep their lands still,
as the Bible beateth witness. And we verily trust that the
good Christian princes of the Christian realm of England
shall never fail of more favour toward the clergy of Christ,
than had the prince idolater to the priests of his idols.8

MONASTIC ALMS.

I use not much myself to go very far abroad, and yet I
see sometimes myself so many poor people at Westminster
at the doles, of whom, as far as ever I heard, the monks use

1 i.e., good for nothing. - " Boystuouse."

3 Supplication of Souls, Works, 303. This was written in 1529.
Confiscation of monasteries by Henry VIII. in 1536-9.

AM) \\ IT.

not to send away many unscrved, that myself for the press
of them have been fain to ride another way. l.ut one
answered me to this once, and said that it was no thank to
them, for it was land that good princes have given them.
But as I then told him again, it were then much less thank
to them that would now give good princes evil counsel for
to take it from them. And also— if we call it no givi:
alms by them, because the lands whereof they give it other
good men have given them— whereof will you have them
give alms, for they have none other ? l

FEET-WASHING ON SHERE-THURSDAY.
Noble princes and great estates use that godly ceremony
very religiously ; and none (I suppose) nowhere more godly
than our sovereign lord .the king's grace here of this realm,
both in humble manner washing and wiping, and kissing
also, many poor folks' feet, after the number of the years of
his age, and with right liberal and princely alms therewith.-

PAROCHIAL MATINS.

Some of us laymen think it a pain once in a week to rise
so soon from sleep, and some to tarry so long fasting, as on
the Sunday to come and hear out their matins. And yet is
not the matins in every parish, neither all thing so early
begun nor fully so long in doing, as it is in the Charter
house."

LUTHERAN DEVOTION.

In many places in Almayne among their holy
where they were in the beginning wonderful hot upon
sermons, they be now, blessed be God, waxen cold enough.

1 Apology, Works, 895. - Treatise on the Passion, Works, 1319.
3 Apology, ch. xxix., Works, 894.

ILLUSTRATIVE OF THE PERIOD. 173

First in many places they sang the service in their mother
tongue, men and women all, and there was a pretty sport
for them for awhile. But after a little use thereof the
pleasure of the novelty passed, and they set somewhat
less thereby than by a gleeman's song. They changed
also the mass, and soon after that many cast it up clean.
Then was all their lust laid upon preaching, specially
because every man might preach that would, saying that
they followed the counsel of St. Paul, while one would bid
the preacher hold his peace and let him speak another
while, affirming that the spirit had revealed him the
right sense, and that the preacher lied. Then turned they
sermons in brawlings, so that sometimes the people parted
them from pointing their preaching with fists. But now, as
I hear say, the matter is well amended, for they can suffer
one to preach as long as it please him, and no man once
interrupt him ; for they be there waxen, women and all, so
cunning that scantly come any to hear him.1

FRIAR FRAPPE.

He that looketh on this [i.e., their manner of life], and
then seeth them come forth and speak so holily, would he
not ween that it were a sort 2 of friars following an " abbot of
misrule" in a Christmas game that were pricked8 in blankets,
and then should stand by and preach upon a stool and
make a mowing sermon?4 And as lewd sermons as they
make in such naughty games, would God that these men's
earnest sermons were not yet much worse. But surely, as
evil as the other be, yet is there more harm and more

1 Answer to Tindale, Works, 398. - Company. :! Dressed.
4 Mocking.

I ; | \V!>I'OM AND WIT.

deadly jioisdii, too, in this one sermon of '1'indalc's thar in
a hundred sermons of Friar Frappe. thai first i;apeth and
then blesseth, and looketh holily and preacheth ribaldry to
the people that stand about. For there is not the
thin^ that Friar Frappe prea< heth in a lewd sport but father
Tindale here writeth much worse in ver rnest, and

much worse than doth the other abuseth the Scripture unto
it. The other [F. Frappe], when he prearheth that men
may lawfully go to lechery, he maketh commonly some
sound texts of his own head, and dare not in such mad
matters meddle with the very Scripture itself. But Tirulale
teacheth us in good earnest that friars may walk out and
wed nuns, and is neither afraid nor ashamed to draw the
Holy Scripture of God unto the maintenance of abominable
sin and service of the devil. The other ribald in his fond
sermon meddleth but with fleshly vices and worldly wanton
ness. But Tindale here, with an earnest high profession of
godly spiritual doctrine, teacheth us a false faith and many
mortal heresies ; and would with Scripture destroy the
Scripture, and amidst his earnest holiness falleth into mocks
and mows, and maketh mad apish jesting against the holy
ceremonies and blessed sacraments of the Saviour Christ,
and the things sanctified with the blessed blood of our
Saviour, Tindale turneth into scorn. Never was there any
scoffing Friar Frappe, preaching upon a stool, that durst play
the knavish fool on such a fashion as ye shall see Tindale
do here. For if any should, his audience (were they never
so wanton) would yet, at such words, if any spark of
Christian zeal remained in their hearts, pull down the ribald
by the skirt, and break the stool upon his head.1
1 COM/, of Timialc, Works, 358.

ILLUSTRATIVE OF THE PERIOD. 175

IRRELIGION AND SUPERSTITION.

Some have I seen even in their last sickness set up in
their death-bed, underpropped with pillows, take their play
fellows to them, and comfort themselves with cards, and
this (they said) did ease them well to put phantasies out of
their heads : and what phantasies, trow 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 there
fore cast it out with card-play as long as ever they might,
till the pure pangs of death pulled their heart from their
play, and put them in a case they could not reckon their
game. And then left them their gameners l and slily slunk
away ; and long was it not ere they gasped up the ghost.
And what game they then came to, God knoweth and not I.

And many a fond fool there is that, when he lieth sick,
will meddle with no physic in no manner wise, but send his
cap or his hose to a wise woman, otherwise called a witch.
Then sendeth she word again, that she hath spied in his
hose where, when he took no heed, he was taken with a
sprite between two doors as he went in the twilight, but the
sprite would not let him feel it in 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 syrups should souse him up. But he shall have
five leaves of valerian that she enchanted with a charm, and
gathered with her left hand : let him lay those five leaves to
his right thumb, not bind it fast to, but let it hang loose
thereat by a green thread ; he shall never need to change

1 The companions of their game forsook them.

I ;f, \VI>D(i.M AM i \\ 11.

it. look it fall not away, but let it hang till be he whole, and
he shall need no more. In such wise witches, and in such
mad medicines have many fools more faith a great deal than
in (iod.1

A POST A I

Bid him not pray for us till he put off his friars coat, and
put on his frieze coat, and run out of his order, and catch
him a quean and call her his wife (618. A). Lechery be
tween friars and nuns they call it matrimony, but shall
have hell for the patrimony (621. A). No Francis-friar bid
any bead2 for us in his friar's coat, till he do off hi-
garments and clothe^himself comely in grey Kendall
(6 1 8. E). He fareth as he were from a friar waxen a fiddler.
and would at a tavern go get him a penny for a fit of mirth

(735- D).

BIBLE ABUSE.

Though the Bible were not taken to every lewd lad in his
own hand, to read a little rude lie when he list, and then
cast the. book at his heels, or among other such as himself,
to keep a Quodlibet, and a pot-parliament thereon (246. B).

CHILDREN'S GAMES.

Take them as little babes untaught, and give them fair
words and pretty proper gear, rattles and cockbells and gay
golden shoes (366. F). Such pretty plays as children be
wont to play, as cherry stone, marrow bone, "bokle pit."
spurne-point, cobnut or " quayling" (574. F). As children
make castles of tile-shards, and then make them their pas
time in the throwing down again (1131. C).

1 Dialogue of Comfort, Works, 1162. - Say any prayer.

ILLUSTRATIVE OF THE PERIOD. 177

GAMESTERS.

They that go now full fresh in their guarded hosen, in
their gay golden riven shirts, and in their silken sleeves,
that nought have to hear it out hut gaming, will once (I
warrant you) fall from gaming to stealing, and start straight
out of silk into hemp (952. H).

BEGGARS.

But as for the botch of his cankered heresies, without any
clout or plaster he layeth out abroad to show, to beg withal
among the blessed brethren, as beggars lay their sore legs
out in sight, that lie a-begging a-Fridays about St. Saviour,
and at the Savoy-gate (1076. F).

JUGGLERS.

As a juggler layeth forth his trinclets upon the table, and
biddeth men look on this and look on that, and blow in his
hand, and then, with certain strange words to make men
muse, whirleth his juggling-stick about his fingers, while he
playeth a false cast, and conveyeth, with the other hand,
something slily into his purse or sleeve, or somewhere out
of sight; so, etc., etc. (1094. D).

TAVERN SIGNS.

I would wot what he l meaneth by sure tokens ; whether
he mean only tokens and signs whereby we may conjecture
that some of the Church be therein, though we know not
which they be, as we may by a sign of a green garland
perceive that there is wine in the house, though we know
not whereabout the cellar is ; or else that we may so surely

1 Barns.
12

i ;S VVI-I.OM AND WIT.

know it that we cannot be deceived therein, as we be sure by
the smoke and the sparkles that there is fire in t'.ie chimney

(757- <"•>.

DRUNKENNI

Some will eat salt meat purposely to give them a courage
to the cup (1047. D).

So dowsy drunk that he could neither stand nor reel, but
fell down sow-drunk in the mire (332. A).

BABIES SWATHED.
Died in their swaddling-clouts (263. G).

USE OF FLOWERS.

The manner then was in that country1 to anoint the dead
corpse with sweet odours, as we dress the winding-sheet
with sweet herbs and flowers (1303. B).

ENGLISH BOOKS.

The very best way were neither to read this [More's
answer to the heretics] nor theirs, but rather the people
unlearned to occupy themselves in prayer, good meditation,
and reading of such English books as most may nourish and
increase devotion (of which kind is Bonaventure of the Life
of Christ, Gerson of the Following of Christ, and the
devout contemplative book of Scala Perfections? with such
other like) than in the learning what may well be answered
unto heretics (356. D).

JUDGES AND JURII->.

In good faith I never saw the day yet but that I durst as
well trust the truth of one judge as of two juries. But the
1 In Palestine, in the time of our Lord. - By Hilton.

ILLUSTRATIVE OF THE PERIOD. 179

judges be so wise men, that for the avoiding of obloquy
they will not be put in the trust (909. B).1

THE SCOTS.

After the rude rhymeless running of a Scottish jest
(739. B). As for victuals, they may provide at home, and
bring with them in bags and bottles, every man for three
days at the least, as the Scots do for a skirmish (778. G).

STAGE PLAYS.

No Soudan in a stage play may make more bragging
boasts, nor run out into more frantic rages (777. C).

CLERICAL DRESS.

For aught that I can see, a great part of the proud and
pompous apparel that many priests, in years not long past,
were by the pride and oversight of some few forced in a
manner against their own wills to wear, was much more, I
trow, than the one half spent and in manner well worn out
(892. B).2

EDWARD IV.

By God's Blessed Lady ! that was ever his oath (39. E).
Albeit, all the time of his reign he was with the people so

1 Sir Thomas (989. G, 59) defends and explains this. He is not
depreciating juries but praising judges : "I will say yet a little further,
and I ween I shall not say so alone. I suppose verily that there be
very few, but that so it might make a final end in their matter, would
rather be content to put it whole into the judges' hands than trouble
the country with calling up of the juries" (990. A). More was to
experience that neither judges nor juries could be trusted against the
king.

2 Written in 1533.

ISO \V|x|. , iM ,\MI WIT.

l>enmn, courteous, and >o familiar, that no part of his
virtues was more esteemed : yet that condition in tin
of his days — in which many j>rince>. 1>\ a long continued
sovereignty, decline into a. proud port from debonnair
behaviour of their beginning — marvellously in him -rew and
increased (36. C).

He had left all gathering of money, which is the onl\
thing that withdraweth the hearts of Englishmen from the
prince (36. B).

PART THE FOURTH.

FANCIES, SPORTS, AND MERRY TALES.

FANCIES, SPORTS, AND MERRY TALES.

They reprove me that I bring in, among the most earnest
matters, fancies and sports and merry tales. But, as Horace
sayeth, a man may sometimes say full sooth in game. And
one that is but a layman, as I am, it may better haply be
come him merrily to tell his mind, than seriously and
solemnly to preach. And, over this, I ran scant believe
that the brethren find any mirth in my books, for I have
not much heard that they very merrily read them.1

CLIFF THE FOOL.

[More says that to lay to him as a fault, that he blames another
man's book for causing divisions between the clergy and laity, al
though he himself cannot heal those divisions, is like saying that we
must not blame a man for burning down a house, unless we can build
it up again.]

" He putteth me in remembrance of an answer that a
man of mine made once much after the same fashion. I
had sometime one with me called Cliff — a man as well
known as Master Henry Patenson. This Cliff had been
many years mad, but age had taken from him the rage, so
that he was meetly well waxen harmless among folk. Into
Cliff's head came there sometimes in his madness such
imaginations against images as these heretics have in their
sadness. For like as some of them, which afterwards fled
and ran away, and some fell to theft and were caught, pulled

1 Apology, Works, 927.
(183)

184 \M-I>"M \NI> NVII.

down of late upon London Bridge the- image of the \'>
Martyr St. Thomas, so Cliff upon the same bridge upon a
time fell in talking unto an image of our Blessed Lady, and
after such blasphemies as the devil put then into his mouth
(and now-a-days bloweth out by the mouths of many
heretics, which, seem they never so sad, be yet more mad
than he) he set hand upon the child in her arm and there
brake off the neck. And afterwards, when honest men,
dwellers upon the bridge, came home to mine house, and
there blamed Cliff before me, and asked him wherefore he
brake off the child's neck in our Lady's arm; when Cliff
had heard them he began to look well and earnestly upon
them, and like a man of sadness and gravity, he asked
them : ' Tell me this among you, there, have you not yet
set on his head again?' 'No (quoth they), we cannot.'
' No? (quoth Cliff), by the mass it is the more shame for
you. Why speak you to me of it then ? ' "

And even thus answereth me now this good man, which
where his seditious "Some says" set forth division, and
break the child's neck, reckoneth it a shame for me to find
any fault with him for the breaking, but if myself could
glue it together again.1

GRIME THE MUSTARD MAKER.

Finally in the very end, to show that he could write, not
only in prose, he endeth all the whole book in this wise,
with a glorious rhyme : —

And thus the glorious Trinity
Have in His keeping both thee and me,
and maketh prayer for no more than but for them two, after

1 Debel. of Salem, Works, 935.

FANCIES, SPORTS, AND MERRY TALES. 185

the manner of the good man Grime, a mustard maker in
Cambridge, that was wont to pray for himself and his wife
and his child, and grace to make good mustard, and no

more.1

THE GALLANT AND THE FRIAR.

When a lewd gallant saw a poor friar going barefoot in a
great frost and snow, he asked him why he did take such
pain.' And he answered that it was very little pain, if a man
would remember hell. " Yea, friar (quoth the gallant), but
what and there be none hell ? Then art thou a great fool."
" Yea, master (quoth the friar), but what and there be hell ?
Then is your mastership a much more fool." 2

A WOMAN'S RETORT.

If I durst be bold to tell so sad a man a merry tale, I
would tell him of the friar that as he was preaching in the
country spied a poor wife of the parish whispering with her
pewfellow, and he, falling angry thereto, cried out unto her
aloud : " Hold thy babble, I bid thee, thou wife in the red
hood ! " Which, when the housewife heard, she waxed as
angry again, and suddenly she started up and cried out
unto the friar again, that all the church rang thereon :
"Marry, sir, I beshrew his heart that babbleth most of us
both, for I do but whisper a word with my neighbour here
and thou hast babbled there all this hour 'Vs

A STRANGE SURETY.

A man came to a king and complained how sore he
feared that such a servant of his would kill him. And the

1 Debel. of Salem, Works, 933. 2 Sup. of Souls, Works, 329.
3 Debel. of Salem, Works, 948.

l86 NVIM.iiM AND WIT.

king hade him : " Fear not, fellow, for I promise thee if he
kill thee he shall he hanged within a little while ;r
" Nay, my liege lord,'' quoth the poor soul, ''I In
your grace let him he hanged for it a great while afore.
I shall never live in the less fear till I see him h.
first" '

THE MAID AND THI TII.KK.

[Tindale affirmed that those commonly called Catholics were the
real heretics, and those commonly called heretics the real Catholics ;
and when asked how this was to be proved, he replied that
heretics were those who held false doctrines as Catholics do. Sir
Thomas replied.]

Now giveth forth Tindale such a counsel, as if one that
could no good skill of money, and were set to be a receiver,
would ask him counsel how he should do to be sure always
to take good money ; and Tindale .would advise him to see
well that he took no bad.

And then, if he said again : " Yea, Master Tindale, but
I pray you teach me, then, how I may be sure that I take
no bad ". " Marry ! (would Tindale say again) for that
shall I teach thee a way sure enough, that never shall
deceive thee, if thou do as I bid thee." " Y\ 'hat is that, I
pray you ? " " Marry, look in any wise that thou take none
but good."

Such a good lesson, lo, did the tiler once teach the maid,
how she should bear home water in a sieve and spill never
a drop. And when she brought the sieve to the water to
him to learn it, he bade her do no more but, ere ever she
put in the water, stop fast all the holes.

And then the maid laughed, and said that she could yet

1 Debel. of Salem, Works, 971.

FANCIES, SPORTS, AND MERRY TALKS. 187

teach him a thing that a man of his craft had more need to
learn. For she could teach him how he should never fall,
climbed he never so high, although men took away the
ladder from him. And when he longed to learn that point
to save his neck with, she bade him do no more but ever see
surely to one thing, that is to wit, that for any haste he
never come down faster than he went up.1

LUTHER'S MARRIAGE.

As the poor ploughman said unto the taverner that gave
him water instead of wine : " God thank you, master winer,
for your good wine, but in good faith, saving for the
worshipful name of wine, I'd as lieve a drunken water " ;
surely so may we well say to these new holy, spiritual
married monks and friars, saving lor the worshipful name of
wedlock, it were as good they lived in lechery.2

LIMITED FAITH.

When the friar apposed him in confession whether he
meddled anything in witchcraft or necromancy, or had any
belief in the devil, he answered him Credere en le diable,
mysir, no. Jo grand fatige a credere in dio. " Believe in
the devil (quoth he), nay, nay, for I have work enough to
believe in God, I." And so would I ween that you were
far from all believing in the devil, ye have so much work to
believe in God Himself, that ye be loth methink to meddle
much in His saints."

DESTINY.

One of their sect in a good town in Almain, when he had
robbed a man, and was brought before the judges, he could

1 Co///, of Tindalc, Works, 652. 2 Ibid., Works, 395.
3 Dialogue, Works, 197.

iSS \VI-lMi\I \M) \VII.

not deny the deed, 1ml he said it was his destiny to do it,
and therefore they might not blame him. Tin ;.
him after his own doctrine, it was also their destiny to hang
him, and therefore he must as well hold them excised.'

SANDWICH HAVEN AND TKNTERDEN STEEPLE.

In this opinion is Luther and his followers that it is not
lawful to any Christian man to fight against the Turk or to
make against him any resistance, though he come into
Christendom with a great army and labour to destroy all.
And unto this they lay that since the time that Christian
men first fell to fighting, it hath never increased but always
minished and decayed. . . . They fare as did an old -age
father fool in Kent, at such time as divers men of worship
assembled old folk of the country to devise about the amend
ment of Sandwich haven. At which time they began first
to ensearch by reason and by the report of old men there
about, what thing had been the occasion that so good a
haven was in so few years so sore decayed and such sands
risen, and such shallow flats made therewith, that right
small vessels had now much work to come in at divers
tides, where great ships were, within few years past, accus
tomed to ride without difficulty. And some laying the fault
to Goodwin Sands, some to the lands inned [enclosed] by
divers owners in the Isle of Thanet, out of the channel in
which the sea was wont to compass the isle and bring the
vessels roundabout it, whose course at the ebb was wont to
scour the haven, which now, the sea [being] excluded then.ce,
for lack of such course and scouring, is choked up with
sand. As they thus alledged, divers with div<

: Dialogue, Works, 274.

FANCIES, SPORTS, AND MERRY TALES. 189

there started up one good old father and said : " Yea,
masters, say every man what he will, cha [I've] marked this
matter well as some other : and by God I wot how it waxed
naught well enough. For I knew it good, and have marked,
so chave [so I have], when it began to wax worse." " And
what hath hurt it, good father?" quoth the gentlemen.
" By my faith, masters (quoth he), yonder same Tenterden
steeple and nothing else ; that, by the mass cholde [I would]
it were a fair fish-pole." " Why hath the steeple hurt the
haven, good father?" quoth they. "Nay, by'r Lady,
masters (quoth he), yche [I] cannot tell you well why, but
chote [I wot] well it hath. For by God I knew it a good
haven till that steeple was builded, and by the Mary-mass
cha [I've] marked it well, it never throve since."

And thus wisely spake these holy Lutherans, which,
sowing schisms and factions among Christian people, lay
the loss thereof in the withstanding of the Turk's invasion,
and the resisting of his malice.1

THE SULTAN OF SYRIA.

You should find him as shamefast as a friend of mine (a
merchant) found once the Soudan of Syria, to whom (being
certain years about his merchandise in that country) he gave
a great sum of money for a certain office meet for him
there for the while, which he scant had him granted and
put in his hand, but that, ere ever it were worth ought
unto him, the Soudan suddenly sold it to another of his own
sect, and put our Hungarian out. Then came he to him,
and humbly put him in remembrance of his grant passed his
own mouth and signed with his own hand. Whereunto the

1 Dialogue, Works, 277.

I(;0 WI-IM )M AM* WIT.

m answered him with a grim < ountenance : -t I will
thou wit it, losel, that neither my mouth nor my hand shall
be master over me, to bind all my body at their pleasure,
but I will so be lord and master over them both, that what
soever the one say, or the other write, I will be at mine
own liberty to do what me list myself, and ask them both
no leave. And therefore go get thee hence out of my
countries, knave." 1

THE CARVI kV U'IFK.

When a carver told his wife that he would, upon a Good
Friday, needs have killed himself for Christ's sake, as Christ
was killed for him, she would not in vain plead against his
mind, but well and wisely put him in remembrance, that if
he would die for Christ as Christ died for him, it were then
convenient for him to die even after the same fashion. And
that might not be by his own hands, but by the hand of
some other: for Christ, pardie, killed not Himself. And
because her husband should need to make no more of
counsel (for that would he not in no wise) she offered him,
that for God's sake she would secretly herself crucify him
on a great cross, that he had made to nail a new carved
crucifix upon. Whereof when he was very glad, yet she
bethought her, that Christ was bounden to a pillar and
beaten first, and after crowned with thorns. Where
upon when she had (by his own assent) bound him fast to
a post, she left not beating, with holy exhortation to suffer
so much and so long, that ere ever she left work and un
bound him, praying him nevertheless that she might put on
his head, and drive it well down, a crown of thorns that she

1 Dialogue of Comfort, Works, 1229.

FANCIES, SPORTS, AND MERRY TALES. 191

had writhen for him and brought him : he said, he thought
this was enough for that year ; he would pray God to for
bear him of the remainder till Good Friday come again.
But when it came again the next year, then was his lust
past ; he longed to follow Christ no farther.1

WORD-JUGGLING.

Likewise, as though a sophister would, with a fond
argument, prove unto a simple soul that two eggs were
three, because that "there is one, and thereat twain, and one
and twain make three " ; the simple, unlearned man, though
he lack learning to soyle [refute] his fond argument, hath yet
wit enough to laugh thereat, and to eat the two eggs him
self, and bid the sophister take and eat the third ; so is
every faithful man as sure in the sight of his soul, how
apparently soever a heretic argue by Scripture to the
contrary, that the common faith of Christ's Catholic Church
is out of question true, and that the Scripture understanden
right is never thereto contrary.2

ANOTHER EXAMPLE.

If he mean to read his riddle on this fashion, then he
soyleth his strange riddle as bluntly as an old wife of
Culnaw did once among scholars of Oxenford that sojourned
with her for death [in the time of the plague]. Which,
while they were on a time for their sport purposing riddles
among them, she began to put forth one of hers too, and
said : " Aread my riddle, what is that ? I knew one that
shot at a hart and killed a haddock." And when we had

1 Dialogue of Comfort, Works, 1193.
- Conf. of Tindalc, Works, 475.

\VI>IX»M AM' WIT.

everybody niucli mused how that might be, and then ]
her to declare her riddle herself, alter long request >h«
at the last that there was once a tidier that came aland in
a place where he saw a hart and shot thereat, hut he hit
it not ; and afterwards he went again to the sea and caught
a haddock and killed it.1

ANOTHER KXAMI

Tindale here by the name of faith understands hope and
trust in God, as he juggleth continually with that word, for
such equivocations and divers understandings of one word
serve him for his goblets, his galls, and his juggling-stick. in
all the proper points of his whole conveyance and his

legerdemain. -

ORIGEN.

I have divers good and honest witnesses to bring forth
when time requireth — St. Austin, St. Jerome, St. Cyprian,
St. Chrysostom, and a great many more — which have also
testified for my part in this matter more than a thousand
years ago. Yet have I another ancient sad father also, one
that they call Origen. And when I desired him to come
and bear witness with me in this matter, he seemed at the
first very well content. But when I told him that he should
meet with Tindale, he blessed himself and shrank hack.
and said he had liever go some other way many a mile than
once meddle with him. " For I shall tell you, sir," quoth he,
"before this time a right honourable man, very cunning and
yet more virtuous, the good Bishop of Rochester, in a great
audience, brought me in for a witness against I.utlu ;
in this same matter, about the time of Tindale'

1 COM/, of Tindtil,, Works, 552. - Ibid.. Works, 572.

FANCIES, SPORTS, ANT) MERRY TALES. 193

translated Testament. But Tindale, as soon as he heard
of my name, without any respect of honesty fell in a rage
with me, and all too rated me, and called me stark heretic,
and that the starkest that ever was." This tale Origen told
me, and swore by St. Simkin that he was never so said unto
of such a lewd fellow since he was first born of his mother,
and therefore he would never meddle with Tindale more.
Now, indeed, it was not well done of Tindale to leave
reasoning and fall a-scolding, chiding and brawling as if he
were a bawdy beggar of Billiter Lane. Fie, for shame ! he
should have favoured and forborne him somewhat, and it had
been but for his age. For Origen is now thirteen hundred
years old or thereabouts, and this was not much above seven

years since.1

DAVY THE DUTCHMAN.

He made me remember a like matter of a man of mine
done seven year afore, one Davy, a Dutchman, which had
been married in England, and saying that his wife was dead
and buried at Worcester two years before, while he was
in his country, and giving her much praise, and often
telling us how sorry he was when he came home and found
her dead, and how heavily he had made her bitter prayers
at her grave, went about, while he waited upon me at
Bruges in the king's business, to marry there an honest
widow's daughter. And so happed it that, even upon the
day when they should have been made handfast and
ensured together, was I advertised from London by my
wife's letter that Davy's wife was alive, and had been at my
house to seek him. Whereupon I called him before me
and others, and read the letter to him. " Marry, master,"

1 Cow/, of Tindale, Works, 410.
13

KM \VI>I.(.M AM- \VII.

quoth he, " that letter saith, mcthink, that my wife is alive."
"Yea, beast," quoth I, " that she is." '' Marry," quoth lie,
"then I am well apaid, for she is a good woman." "Yea."
quoth I, " but why art thou such a naughty, wretched man,
that thou wouldest here wed another? Didst thou not
say she was dead?" "Yes, marry," quoth he, '* men of
Worcester told me so." " Why," quoth I, " thou false
beast, didst thou not tell me and all my house that thou
wert at her grave thyself ? " " Yea, marry, master," quoth
he, " so I was, but I could not look in, ye wot well." i

PATERSON'S PROCLAMATION.

They that tell us that we shall be damned but if we
believe right, and then tell us that we cannot know that but
by the Scripture, and that the Scripture cannot be so learned
but of a true teacher, and they tell us we cannot be sure
of a true teacher, and so cannot be sure to understand
it right, and yet say that God will damn us for understand
ing it wrong, or not understanding at all ; they that thus
tell us put me in mind of a tale that they tell of M
Henry Paterson, a man of known wisdom in London and
almost everywhere else. Which when he waited once on
his master in the emperor's court at Bruges, and was
there soon perceived upon the sight for a man of special
wit by himself, and unlike the common sort, they caught a
sport in angering of him, and out of divers corners hurled
at him such things as angered him and hurt him not.
Thereupon he gathered up good stones, not gunstones but
as hard as they, and those he put apace into his bosom,
and then stood him up upon a bench, and made a procla-

1 COM/, of Tindalf, Works, 728.

FANCIES, SPORTS, AND MERRY TALES. 195

mation aloud that every man might hear him, in which he
commanded every man upon their own perils to depart,
except only those that hurled at him, to the intent that he
might know them and hurl at them again, and hurt none
other body but his enemies ; but whosoever tarried after his
proclamation made he would take him for one of the
hurlers, or else for one of their counsellors, and then have
at their heads, whosoever they were that would abide.

Now was his proclamation in English, and the company
that heard him were such as understood none, but stood
still and gaped upon him and laughed at him. And by-and-
by one hurled at him again ; and anon, as he saw that :
" What, whoresons (quoth he), ye stand still every one I
ween, and not one of you will remove a foot for all my
proclamations, and thereby I see well ye be hurlers, or of
counsel with the hurlers, all the whole many of you, and
therefore have at you all again ". And with the word he
hurled a great stone out at adventure among them, he
neither wist nor sought1 at whom, but lighted upon a
Burgundian's head and brake his pate that the blood ran
about his ears ; and Master Henry bade him stand to his
harms hardily, for why would he not beware then, and
get him thence betime, when he gave him before so great
courteous warning.2

"PLAY THE GOOD COMPANION."
[Margaret Roper writes as follows : — ]

As far as I can call to mind, my father's tale was this,
that there is a court belonging unto every fair, to do
justice in such things as happen within the same. Upon a
1 Cared. 2 Cow/, of Tindalc, Works, 767.

196 WISDOM AND WIT.

time at such a court holden at Hartylmcwe ' Fair then
an escheator of London that had arrested a man that was
outlawed, and had seized his goods that he had brought
into the fair, tolling him out of the fair by a train.' The
man that was arrested (and his goods sei/ed ) was a northern
man, which by his friends made the escheator within the
fair to be arrested upon an action (I wot ne'er what). And
so was he brought before the judge of the court, and at the
last the matter came to a certain ceremony to be tried by a
quest of twelve men, a jury as I remember they call it, or
else a perjury. Now had the' clothman, by friendship of
the officers, found the means to have all the quest almost
made of the northern men, such as had their booths there
standing in the fair. Now was it come to the last day in
the afternoon, and the twelve men had heard both the
parties and their counsel tell their tales at the bar, and were
from the bar had into a place to talk and commune and
agree upon their verdict. They were scant come in to
gether but the northern men were agreed, and in effect all
the other too, to cast our London escheator. They thought
there needed no more to prove that he did wrong, than
even the name of his bare office alone.

But then was there among them, as the devil would, an
honest man of another quarter, that was called Company.
And because the fellow seemed but a fool, and sat still and
said nothing, they made no reckoning of him, but said :
" We be agreed now ; come and let us go give our verdict ".
Then when the poor fellow saw that they made such haste,
and his mind nothing gave him that way that theirs did (if
their minds gave them that way that they said), he prayed
1 St. Bartholomew's Fair. - Stratagem.

FANCIES, SPORTS, AND MERRY TALES. IQ7

them to tarry and talk upon the matter, and tell him such
reason therein that he might think as they did ; and when
he so should do he would be glad to say with them, or else
(he said) they must pardon him. For since he had a soul
of his own to keep as they had, he must say as he thought
for his, as they must for theirs.

When they heard this they were half angry with him :
" What ! good fellow (quoth one of the northern men),
where wons 1 thou ? Be not we eleven here, and thou but
one, lo ! alone,2 and all we be agreed ? Whereto shouldst
thou stick ? What is thy name, good fellow ? " " Masters
(quoth he), my name is called Company." " Company !
(quoth they), now by thy troth, good fellow, play then the
good companion ; come therein forth with us and pass even
for good company/' " Would God, good masters (quoth
the man again), that there lay no more weight thereon.
But now, when we shall hence and come before God, and
that He shall send you to heaven for doing according to
your conscience, and me to the devil for doing against
mine, in passing at your request here for good company
now — by God, Master Dickinson (that was one of the
northern men's names), if I shall then say to all you again :
4 Masters, I went once for good company with you, which is
the cause that I go now to hell ; play you the good fellows now
again with me. As I went then for good company with you,
so some of you go now for good company with me.' Would
you go, Master Dickinson ? Nay, nay, by our Lady ; nor
never one of you all. And, therefore, must ye pardon me

1 Livest.

- It is given in the northern dialect : " Be not we eleven here and
thou ne but ene, la ! alene," etc.

198 \VI>|i..M AND WIT.

from passing as you pass ; hut if I thought in the matter
as you do, I dare not in such a matter pass for good
company."

And when my father had told me this tale, then said he
further thus : " I pray thee, now, good Margaret, tell me
this, wouldest thou wish thy poor father, heing at the least
wise somewhat learned, less to regard the peril of his soul
than did there that honest, unlearned man ? I meddle not
(you wot well) with conscience of any man that hath sworn,
nor I take not upon me to be their judge. But now, if they
do well, and that their conscience grudge them not ; if I—
with my conscience to the contrary — should, for good
company, pass as with them and swear as they do, when all
our souls hereafter shall pass out of this world and stand in
judgment at the bar before the high Judge, if He judge
them to heaven and me to the devil, because I did as they
did, not thinking as they thought, if I should then say (as
the good man Company said) : ' Mine old good lords and
friends— naming such a lord and such, yea, and some
bishops, peradventure, of such as I love best— I sware
because you sware, and went that way that you went ; do
likewise for me now ; let me not go alone if there be any
good fellowship with you, some of you come with me '. By
my troth, Margaret, I may say to thee in secret counsel here
between us twain (let it go no further, I beseech thee,
heartily), I find the friendship of this wretched world so
fickle, that for anything that I could treat or pray, that
would for good fellowship go to the devil with me, among
them all, I ween, I should not find one." 1

1 Works, 1437.

FANCIES, SPORTS, AND MERRY TALES. 199

A STRANGE TEMPTATION.

Some of my folk here can tell you that even yesterday
one that came out of Vienna showed us, among other
talking, that a rich widow (but I forgot to ask where it
happed), having all her life a high, proud mind and a fell,
as those two virtues are wont always to keep company
together, was at debate with another neighbour of hers in
the town, and on a time she made of her counsel a poor
neighbour of hers, whom she thought for money she might
induce to follow her mind. With him secretly she brake,
and offered him ten ducats for his labour, to do so much for
her as in a morning early to come to her house, and with
an axe, unknown privily, to strike off her head. And when
he had so done, then convey the bloody axe into the house
of him with whom she was at debate, in some such manner
wise as it might be thought that he had murdered her for
malice, and then she thought she should be taken for a
martyr. And yet had she further devised, that another sum
of money should after be sent to Rome, and that there
should be means made to the Pope that she might in all
haste be canonised. This poor man promised, but intended
not to perform it. Howbeit, when he deferred it, she
provided the axe herself, and he appointed with her the
morning when he should come and do it. But then set
he such other folk, as he would should know her frantic
phantasy, in such place appointed as they might well hear her
and him talk together. And after that he had talked with
her thereof what he would, so much as he thought was
enough, he made her lie down, and took up the axe in his
one hand, and with the other hand he felt the edge, and

200 \VI>lM>M AND WIT.

found a fault that it was not sharp, and that, therefore, he
would in no wise do it till that he had ground it sharp ; he-
could not else (he said) for pity, it would put her to ><>
much pain ; and so full sore against her will for that time
she kept her head still. But because she would no UK ire-
suffer any to deceive her so, and fode her forth with delays,
ere it was very long after she hanged herself with her own

hands.1

FEARS OF THE NIGHT.

Now consider further yet, that the prophet in the fore-
remembered verses saith not, that in the night walk only
the lions' whelps, but also, omnes bestia sylrarum, all the
beasts of the wood. Now wot you well, that if a man walk
through the wood in the night, many things may 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,2 I was once
in the war with the king, then my master (God assoil his
soul !) and we were camped within the Turk's ground many
a mile beyond Belgrade, which would God were ours now,
as well as it was then ! But so happed it, that in our
camp about midnight, there suddenly rose rumours that the
Turk's whole army was secretly stealing upon us, wherewith
our noble host was warned to arm them in haste, and set
themself in array to fight. And then were scouts of ours
that brought these sudden tidings, examined more leisurely
by the council, what surety or what likelihood they had per
ceived therein. Of whom one showed, that by the glimmer-

1 Dialogue of Comfort, Works, 1188.

- The speaker is supposed to be a Hungarian nobleman.

FANCIES, SPORTS, AND iMERRY TALES. 2OI

ing 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 fore
front, but as even as the thread, and in breadth farther
than he could see in length. His fellows being examined
said that he was somewhat pricked forth before them, and
came so fast back to tell it them that they thought it rather
time to make haste and give warning to the camp, than to
go nearer unto them : for they were not so far off, but that
they had yet themself somewhat an imperfect sight of them
too. Thus stood we watching all the remnant of the night
evermore hearkening when we should hear them come,
with, " Hush, stand still, methink I hear a trampling " ; so
that at last many of us thought we heard them ourself also.
But when the day was sprung, and that we saw no man, out
was our scourer sent again, and some of our captains with
him, to show them whereabout the place was in which he
perceived them. And when they came thither they found
that 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 while
there walk in that night not only the lions' whelps, but over
that all the beasts of the wood beside, the beast that we
hear roar in the dark night of tribulation and fear it for a
lion, we sometimes find well afterwards in the day, that it
was no lion at all, but a silly rude roaring ass.1

1 Dialogue of Comfort, Works, 1181.

202 \VISlniM AM' \VI I.

A I'l<MV(iK!\(. \Vll-K.

Antony. — There was here in Huda, in King Ladislaus
days, a good, poor, honest man's wife : this woman v.
fiendish that the devil, perceiving her nature, put her in
the mind that she should anger her husband so sore, that
she might give him occasion to kill her, and then he should
be hanged for her.

Vincent. — This was a strange temptation indeed. What
the devil should she be the better then ?

Antony. — Nothing but that it eased her shrewd stomach
before, to think that her husband should be hanged after.
And peradventure if you look about the world and consider
it well, you shall find more such stomachs than a tew.
Have you never heard no furious body plainly say, that to
see some such man have a mischief, he would with good
will be content to lie as long in hell as God liveth in
heaven ?

Vincent. — Forsooth, and some such have I heard of.

Antony. — This mind of his was not much less mad than
hers, but rather haply the more mad of the twain : for the
woman peradventure did not cast so far peril therein. But
to tell you now to what good pass her charitable purpose
came : as her husband (the man was a carpenter) stood
hewing with his chip-axe upon a piece of timber, she began
after her old guise so to revile him, that the man waxed
wrath at last, and bade her get in or he would lay the helm
of his axe about her back, and said also, that it were little
sin even with that axe-head to chop off that unhappy head
of hers that carried such an ungracious tongue therein. At
that word the devil took his time, and whetted her tongue

FANCIES, SPORTS, AND MERRY TALES. 203

against her teeth, and when it was well sharped, she sware
to him in very fierce anger : " By the mass, I would thou
wouldst : here lieth my head, lo ! (and therewith down she
laid her head upon the same timber log) if thou smite it
not off, I beshrew thy heart ". With that, likewise, as the
devil stood at her elbow, so stood (as I heard say) his good
angel at his, and gave him ghostly courage, and bade him
be bold and do it. And so the good man up with his chip-
axe, and at a chop chopped off her head indeed. There
were standing other folk by, which had a good sport to
hear her chide, but little they looked for this chance, till it
was done ere they could let it. They said they heard her
tongue babble in her head, and call evil names twice after
the head was from the body. At the leastwise afterward
unto the king thus they reported all, except only one, and
that was a woman, and she said that she heard it not.

Vincent. — Forsooth, this was a wonderful work. What
became, Uncle, of the man ?

Antony. — The king gave him his pardon.

Vincent. — Verily he might in conscience do no less.

Antony. — But then was it farther almost at another
point, that there should have been a statute made, that in
such case there should never after pardon be granted, but,
the truth being able to be proved, no husband should need
any pardon, but should have leave by the law to follow the
sample of the carpenter, and do the same.

Vincent. — How happed it, Uncle, that the good law was
left unmade?

Antony. — How happed it ? As it happeth, Cousin, that
many more be left unmade as well as it, and within a little
as good as it too, both here and in other countries ; and,

204 \VI>]M,M AND WIT.

sometimes some worse made in their stead. But (as they
say) the let of that law was the queen's grace, (iod forgive
her soul ! it was the greatest thing, I ween, good lady, that
she had to answer for when she died, for surely, sa\
that one thing, she was a full blessed woman.1

THE WOLF, THE Ass, AND TIN-. '

Antony. — My mother had, when I was a little boy, a good
old woman that took heed to her children ; they called her
Mother Maud : I trow, you have heard of her.
Vincent. — Yea, yea, very much.

Antony. — She was wont, when she sat by the fire with us,
to tell us that were children many childish tales. I remem
ber me that among other of her fond tales, she told us once,
that the ass and the wolf came on a time to confession to
the fox. The poor ass came to shrift in the shrovetide, a
day or two before Ash Wednesday ; but the wolf would not
come to confession until he saw first Palm Sunday past, and
then foded yet forth farther .until Good Friday. The fox
asked the ass before he began Beneditite, wherefore he came
to confession so soon before Lent began. The poor beast
answered him again : for fear of deadly sin if he should lose
his part of any of those prayers that the priest in the clean
sing days prayeth for them that are confessed already.
Then in his shrift he had a marvellous grudge in his inward
conscience, that he had one day given his master a cai
anger, in that, that with his rude roaring before his master
arose, he had awaked him out of his sleep, and bereaved
him out of his rest. The fox for that fault, like a good
discreet confessor, charged him to do so no more, but lie
still and sleep like a good son himself, till his master were
1 Dialogue of Comfort, Works, 1187.

FANCIES, SPORTS, AND MERRY TALES. 205

up and ready to go to work, and so should he be sure, that
he should not wake him no more.

To tell you all the poor ass's confession, it were a long
work, for everything that he did was deadly sin with him,
the poor soul was so scrupulous. But his wise wily con
fessor accounted them for trifles, as they were, and sware
afterward unto the badger, that he was so weary to sit so
long and hear him, that saving for the manners' sake, he had
liever have sitten all the while at breakfast with a good fat
goose. But when it came to the penance giving, 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 own meat do any other
beast any harm or hindrance, and then eat his meat, and
study for no more.

Now, as good Mother Maud told us, when the wolf came
to confession to Father Reynard (for that was, she said, the
fox's name) upon Good Friday, his confessor shook his
great pair of beads upon him almost as big as bowls, and
asked him wherefore he came so late. " Forsooth, Father
Reynard," quoth he, " I must needs tell you the truth : I
come (you wot well) therefor, I durst come no sooner, for
fear lest you would for any 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 put them to pain 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 eat flesh all this

206 WISlKiM AND WIT.

Lent, myself I. Howbeit, indeed, because I will not be
occasion of slander, I therefore eat it secretly in my cham
ber, out of sight of all such foolish brethren as for their
weak scrupulous conscience would wax offended withal, and
so would I counsel you to do." "Forsooth, Father I <>\,
quoth the wolf, " and so I thank God I do, so near as I can.
For when I go to my meat, I take none other company
with me, but such sure brethren as are of mine own nature,
whose consciences are not weak, I warrant you, but their
stomachs as strong as mine." " Well, then, no matter,'
quoth Father Fox.

But when he heard after by his confession, that he was so
great a ravener, that he devoured and spent sometime so
much victual at one meal, as the price thereof would well
find some poor man with his wife and children almost all
the week ; then he prudently reproved that point in him,
and preached him a process of his own temperance, which
never used, as he said, to pass upon himself the value of
sixpence at a meal, no nor yet so much neither. " For
when I bring home a goose," quoth he, " not out of the
poulterer's shop, where folk find them out of their feathers
ready plucked, and see which is the fattest and yet t
pence buy and choose the best, but out of the housewife's
house at the first hand, which may somewhat better cheap
afford them, you wot well, than the poulterer may, nor yet
cannot be suffered to see them plucked, and stand and
choose them by day, but am fain by night to take at ad
venture, and when I come home, am fain to do the labour
to pluck her myself: yet for all this, though it be but lean,
and I ween not well worth a groat, serveth it me somewhat
for all that, both dinner and supper too. And therefore, as

FANCIES, SPORTS, AND MERRY TALES. 207

for that you live of raven, therein can I find no fault : you
have used it so long, that I think you can do none other.
And therefore were it folly to forbid it you, and (to say the
truth) against good conscience too. For live you must, I
wot well, and other craft can you none ; and therefore, as
reason is, must you live by that. But yet, you wot well,
too much is too much, and measure is a merry mean, which
I perceive by your shrift you have never used to keep.
And therefore, surely, this shall be your penance : that you
shall all this year now pass upon yourself the price of six
pence at a meal, as near as your conscience can guess the
price.''

Their shrift have I showed you, as Mother Maud showed
it us. But now serveth for our matter the conscience of
them both, in the true performing of their penance. The
poor ass after his shrift, when he waxed a hungered, saw a
sow lie with her pigs well lapped in new straw, and near he
drew and thought to have eaten of the straw. But anon
his scrupulous conscience began therein to grudge him. For
while his penance was, that for greediness of his meat he
should do none other body harm ; he thought he might not
eat one straw thereof, lest for lack of that straw some of
those pigs might hap to die for cold. So held he still his
hunger, till one brought him meat. But when he should
fall thereto, then fell he yet in a far further scruple ; for
then it came in his mind that he should yet break his
penance, if he should eat any of that either, since he was
commanded by his ghostly father, that he should not for
his own meat hinder any other beast. For he thought, that
if he eat not that meat, some other beast might hap to have
it, and so should he by the eating of it peradventure hinder

208 WISDOM \\D \vrr.

another. And thus stood lie still fasting, till when he told
the cause, his ghostly father came and informed him better,
and then he cast off that scruple, and fell mannerly to his
meat, and was a right honest ass many a fair day after.

Now this wolf had cast out in confession all his old raven,
and then hunger pricked him forward, that he should be^in
all afresh. But yet the prick of conscience withdrew and
held him back, because he would not for breaking of his
penance take any prey for his mealtide that should pass
the price of sixpence. It happed him then as he walked
prowling for his gear about, he came where a man had in
few days before cast off two old, lean, and lame horses, so
sick, that no flesh was there left on them; and the one,
when the wolf came by, could scant stand upon his legs,
and the other already dead, and his skin ripped off and
carried away. And as he looked upon them suddenly, he
was first about to feed upon them, and whet his teeth on
their bones. But as he looked aside, he spied a fair cow in
a close walking with her young calf by her side. And as
soon as he saw them, his conscience began to grudge him
against both those two horses. And then he sighed, and
said unto himself: "Alas ! wicked wretch that 1 am, I had
almost broken my penance ere I was ware. For yonder
dead horse, because I never saw no dead horse sold in the
market, and I should even die therefore, I cannot devise
what price I should set upon him ; but in my conscience I
set him far above sixpence, and therefore I dare not meddle
with him. Now, then, is yonder quick horse, of likelihood
worth a great deal of money : for horses be dear in this
country, specially such soft amblers ; for I see by hi
he trotteth not, nor can scant shift a foot. And therefore I

FANCIES, SPORTS, AND MERRY TALES. 209

may not meddle with him, for he vejy far passeth my six
pence. But kino this country here hath enough, but money
have they very little ; and therefore, considering the plenty
of the kine, and the scarcity of the money, as for yonder
cow seemeth unto me in my conscience worth not past a
groat, an she be worth so much. Now, then, as for her calf,
is not so much as she by half. And therefore, while the
cow is in my conscience worth but fourpence, my con
science cannot serve me for sin of my soul to appraise her
calf above twopence, and so pass they not sixpence between
them both. And. therefore them twain may I well eat at
this one meal, and break not my penance at all." And so
therefore he did, without any scruple of conscience.

If such beasts could speak now, as Mother Maud said
they could then, some of them would, I ween, tell a tale
almost as wise as this, wherein, save for the minishing of old
Mother Maud's tale, else would a shorter process have
served. But yet, as peevish as the parable is, in this it
serveth for our purpose, that the fear of a conscience some
what scrupulous, though it be painful and troublous to him
that hath it, like as this poor ass had here, is less harm yet,
than a conscience over large, or such as for his own fantasy
the man list to frame himself, now drawing it narrow, now
stretching it in breadth, after the manner of a cheverel point,
to serve on every side for his own commodity, as did here
the wily wolf. But such folk are out of tribulation, and
comfort need they none, and therefore are they out of our
matter. But those that are in the night's fear of their own
scrupulous conscience, let them be well ware, as I said, that
the devil, for weariness of the one, draw them not into the
other ; and while he would flee from Scylla, draw him into

14

210 WISDOM AND WIT.

Churylxlis. He must do as doth a ship that should mine
into an haven, in the mouth whereof lie secret ro< ks under the
water on both sides. If he he by mishap entered in among
them that are on the one side, and cannot tell h<>\\
out : he must get a substantial cunning pilot, that B
conduct him from the rocks that are on that side, that yet
he bring him not into those that are on the other side, but
can guide him in the midway.1

TALKATIVE NUN AND TALKATIYI. Win .

Antony. — Between you and me, it fared as it did OIK e
between a nun and her brother. Very virtuous was this
lady, and of a very virtuous place, a close religion,- and
therein had been long, in all which time she had never seen
her brother, which was in like wise very virtuous, and had
been far off at an university, and had there taken the de
gree of doctor in divinity. When he was come home he
went to see his sister, as he that highly rejoiced in her
virtue. So came she to the grate that they call, I trow, the
locutory, and after their holy watch-word spoken on both
the sides, after the manner used in that place, the one took
the other by the tip of the finger (for hand would there be
none wrungen through the grate), and forthwith began my
lady to give her brother a sermon of the wret< hedn.
this world, and the frailty of the flesh, and the subtle slights
of the wicked fiend, and gave him surely good counsel,
saving somewhat too long, how he should be well ware in
his living, and master well his body for saving of his soul :
and yet, ere her own tale came all at an end, she began to
find a little fault with him, and said : " In good faith,

1 Dialogue of Comfort, Works, 1 183. 2 Enclosed religious order.

FANCIES, SPORTS, AND MERRY TALES. 211

Brother, I do somewhat marvel that you, that have been at
learning so long, and are doctor, and so learned in the law
of God, do not now at our meeting, while we meet so
seldom, to me that 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 be
tween. But now, will I, therefore, take another way with
you ; for I shall of our talking 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 there was of late a kinswoman
of your own, but which will I not tell you ; guess her an
you can. Her husband had much pleasure in the manner
and behaviour of another honest man, and kept him there
fore much company ; by the reason whereof he was at his
mealtime the more oft from home. So happed it on a time
that his wife and he together dined or supped with that
neighbour of theirs, and then she made a merry quarrel to
him for making her husband so good cheer out a-door, that
she could not have him at home. "Forsooth, mistress,"
quoth he (as he was a dry merry man), " in my company
nothing keepeth him but one ; serve you him with the
same, and he will never be from you." " What gay thing
may that be?" quoth our cousin then. "Forsooth, mis
tress," 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 that I am content ; he

21 2 \VI>|K)M AND WIT.

shall have all the words with a goodwill, as he hati.
had. But I speak them all myself, and give them all to
him; and for aught that I < : for them, so he shall have
them still. Hut otherwise to say, that he shall have them
all, you shall keep them still, rather than he get the half." '

Lovi. OP I-' i \ I i I.RV.

Vincent. — When I was first in Almaine, Uncle, it happed
me to be somewhat favoured with a great man of the
church, and a. great state, one of the greatest in all that
country there.2 And indeed whosoever might spend as
much as he might in one thing and other, were a right
great estate in any country of Christendom. But glorious
was he very far above all measure, and that was great pity,
for it did harm and made him abuse many great gifts that
God had given him. Never was he satiate of hearing his
own praise. So happed it one day, that he had in a great
audience made an oration in a certain manner, wherein he
liked himself so well, that at his dinner he sat on thorns,
till he might hear how they that sat with him at his hoard
would commend it. And when he had sitten musing a
while, devising (as I thought after) on some pretty proper
way to bring it in withal, at last, for lack of a better (lest
he should have letted the matter too long) he brought it
even bluntly forth, and asked us all that sat at his board's
end (for at his own mess in the midst there sat but himself
alone), how well we liked his oration that he had made that
day. But in faith, Uncle, when that problem was once pro
posed, till it was full answered, no man I ween ate one

1 Dialogue of Comfort, Works, 1170.

3 This story is generally supposed to apply to Cardinal \Y<>

FANCIES, SPORTS, AND MERRY TALES. 213

morsel of meat more : every man was fallen in so deep a
study, for the finding of some exquisite praise. For he that
should have brought out but a vulgar and common com
mendation would have thought himself shamed for ever.

Then said we our sentences by row as we sat, from the
lowest unto the highest in good order, as it had been a
great matter of the common weal in a right solemn council.
When it came to my part (I will not say it for no boast,
Uncle), methought, by our 1 ady ! for my part I quit myself
pretty well. And I liked myself the better, because me
thought my words (being but a stranger) went yet with some
grace in the Almaine tongue, wherein, letting my Latin
alone, me listed to show my cunning. And I hoped to be
liked the better, because I saw that he that sat next me, and
should say his sentence after me, was an unlearned priest :
for he could speak no Latin at all. But when he came forth
for his part with my lord's commendation, the wily fox had
been so well accustomed in court with the craft of flattery
that he went beyond me too far. And then might I see by
him, what excellency a right mean wit may come to in one
craft, that in all his whole life studieth and busieth his
wit about no more but that one. But I made after a
solemn vow to myself, that if ever he and I were matched
together at that board again, when we should fall to our
flattery I would flatter in Latin, that he should not contend
with me no more. For though I could be content to be
outrun of a horse, yet would I no more abide it to be
outrun of an ass. But, Uncle, here began now the game :
he that sat highest, and was to speak the last, was a great
beneficed man, and not a doctor only, but also somewhat
learned indeed in the laws of the Church. A world it was

214 WISDOM AND WIT.

to see how he marked every man's word that spake
him. and it seemed that every word, the more proper that it
was the worse he liked it, for the rumbrame that he had to
study out a better to pass it. The man even >\\vat with the
labour, so that he was fain in the while now and then to
wipe his face. Howbeit in conclusion, when it came to his
course, we that had spoken before him, had so taken all up
among us before, that we had not left him one wise word to
speak after.

Antony. — Alas ! good man, among so many of you, some
good fellow should have lent him one.

Vincent. — It needed not, as hap was, Uncle, for he found
out such a shift, that in his flattering he passed us all the
many.

Antony. — Why, what said he, Cousin ?

Vincent. — By our I^dy ! Uncle, not one word. . .
when he saw that he could find no word of praise that would
pass all that had been spoken before already, the wily fox
would speak never a word, but as he were ravished unto
heavenward with the wonder of the wisdom and eloquence
that my lord's grace had uttered in that oration, he fetched
a long sigh with an oh ! from the bottom of his breast, and
held up both his hands, and lifted up his head, and cast
up his eyes into the welkin and wept.

Antony. — Surely, Cousin, as Terence saith,such folks make
men of fools even stark mad, and much cause have their
lords to be right angry with them.

Vincent. — God hath indeed, and is, I ween: but as tor
their lords, Uncle, if they would after wax angry with them
therefor, they should in my mind do them very great wronu,
when it is one of the things that they specially keep them

FANCIES, SPORTS, AND MERRY TALES. 215

for. For those that are of such vainglorious mind (be they
lords or be they meaner men) can be much better content
to have their contents commended, then amended; and
require their servants and their friend never so specially to
tell them the very truth, yet shall he better please them if
he speak them fair, than if he tell them truth. And in good
faith, Uncle, the self-same prelate that I told you my tale of,
I dare be bold to swear it (I know it so surely), had on a
time made of his own drawing a certain treaty, that should
serve for a league between that country and a great prince.
In which treaty, himself thought that he had devised his
articles so wisely, and indited them so well, that all the
world would allow them. Whereupon longing sore to be
praised, he called unto him a friend of his, a man well
learned, and of good worship, and very well expert in those
matters, as he that had been divers times ambassador for
that country, and had made many such treaties himself.
When he took him the treaty, and that he had read it, he
asked him how he liked it, and said : " But I pray you hear
tily tell me the very truth ". And that he spake so heartily,
that the other had weened he would fain have heard
the truth, and in trust thereof he told him a fault therein.
At the hearing whereof, he swore in great anger : " By the
mass ! thou art a very fool ". The other afterward told me,
that he would never tell him truth again.

Antony. — Without question, Cousin, I cannot greatly
blame him : and thus themself make every man mock
them, flatter them, and deceive them : those, I say, that are
of such vainglorious mind. For if they be content to hear
the truth, let them then make much of those that tell them
the truth, and withdraw their ear from them that falsely

2 \(> \VI>lM >M AM' \\II-.

flatter them, and they shall he more truly served than with
twenty requests, praying men to tell them true. King
l.adislaus, our Lord assoil his soul, used much this manner
among his servants. When any of them prated air
of his, or any condition in him, if he perceived that they
said but the truth, he would let it pass by uncontrolled.
But when he saw that they set a ;_loss upon it for his
praise of their own making beside, then would he shortly
say unto them : "I pray thee, good fellow, when thoii
grace at my board, never bring in Gloria I\itri without a
sicut crat ; that is to wit, even as it was, and none other
wise : and lift me not up with no lies, for I love it not ". If
men would use this way with them, that this noble king
used, it would minish much of their false flattery.

I can well allow, that men should commend (keeping
them within the bounds of truth) such things as tb<
praiseworthy in other men, to give them the greater courage
to the increase thereof. For men keep still in that point
one condition of children, that praise must prick them forth ;
but better it were to do well, and look for none. liowbeit,
they that cannot find in their heart to commend another
man's good deed, show themself either envious, or
of nature very cold and dull. But out of question, he
that putteth his pleasure in the praise of the people hath
but a fond phantasy. For if his finger do but ache of
an hot blain, a great many men's mouths blowing out his
praise will scantly do him among them all half so much
ease as to have one little boy to blow upon his tii

1 Dialogue of Comfort, Works. 1221.

PART THE FIFTH.

COLLOQUIAL AND QUAINT PHRASES.

COLLOQUIAL AND QUAINT PHRASES.

A faint faith is better than a strong heresy (423. D).

If God sit where He sat (570. F).

The old saw : Out of sight, out of mind (334. B).

It were as soon done to weave a new web of cloth as to
sow up every hole in a net (224. A). l

The devil is ready to put out men's eyes that are content
willingly to wax blind (341. F).

Each man knoweth well where his own shoe wringeth him.

It is in almost every country become a common proverb,
that shame is as it is taken (1253. B).

When the wine were in and the wit out (243. B).

But yet, as women say : Somewhat it was always that the
cat winked when her eye was out (241. A).

I admit the case as possible, but yet as such a case, as,
I trust in God, this good man shall see the sky fall first and
catch larks ere it happen (1022. B).

1 Said of the tediousness of correcting a book full of errors.
(219)

220 \VI>l>f)M AND \\II.

I have espied this good man is a man of sadness and no
great gamener.1 For, if he were, he would never be an-ry
for an angry word spoken by a man that is on the losing
side. It is an old courtesy at the cards, perdie ! to let the
loser have his words (1018. I

Men use, if they have an evil turn, to write it in marble,
and whoso doth us a good turn, we write it in dust (57 1 >.

He cannot see the wood for the trees (741. H).

If women might be suffered to begin once in the congre
gation to fall in disputing, those aspen, leaves of theirs
would never leave wagging (769. B).H

A figure of rhetoric that men call sauce malapert (305.
E).

Finding of a knot in a rush (778. G).

Sin it were to belie the devil (57. C).

A Jack of Paris, an evil pie. twice baken (675. E).

To seek out one line in all St. Austin's works were to go
look a needle in a meadow (837. H).

Men speak of some that bear two faces in one hood

(271. c;).

1 Gamester.

•rg. " But I can give the loser leave to chich -.d Part

of Henry VI., act iii. scene i.)

3 The words are put in the mouth of Friar Barns.

COLLOQUIAL AND QUAINT PHRASES. 221

We make the fashion of Christendom to seem all turned
quite up so down (no. D). Pervert and turn up so down
the right order (242. E).1

Not worth a fig (241. G). Not worth a straw (989. G,
464. C). Not worth a rush (464. H). Not worth a
button (355. D). On the other side set I not five straws
(963. F). Worth an aiglet of a good blue point (675. H).
Cannot avail a fly (1143. B).

If the wager were but a butterfly I would never award
him one wing (216. D). I would not give the paring of a
pear for his prayer, putting away the true faith therefrom as
he doth (844. A).

Mad as a March hare ; Dead as a door nail ; Frushed to
fitters 2 (374. T). Drives me to the hard wall (596. B).
They harp upon the right string (244. B). Ever upon that
string he harpeth (302. B). Many wits rotten before ripe
(841. F). They can perceive chalk from cheese well enough
(241. H). The bones of buttered beer8 (423. C). Grass
widows4 (230. G). A fair tale of a tub (371. 11,576. B).
They tell us that all things is in Scripture as plain as a pack-
staff (814. E). Blasphemous and Bedlam-ripe (1036. H).
Played bo-peep (841. G). No more like than an apple
to an oyster (724. C). Less like than Paul's steeple to
a dagger-sheath (595 H). To make a lip5 (294. F).

1 So always, not up-side-down.

- i.e., crushed to small fragments. — Halliwell.

3 Beer boiled with lump sugar, butter and spice.

4 An unmarried woman who has had a child. — Halliwell.

5 To dissent from a proposition.

222 WISDOM AND \vu.

This is well devised and herein he playeth the good cow
and giveth us a good gallon of milk (962. ('). \Vhoso shall
read his worshipful writing shall perceive therein nourishing
without fruit, subtilty without substance, rhetoric without
reason, bold babbling without learning and wiliness without
wit (291. F).1 Tindale's bibble-babble (641. E).

And thus, with this godly quip against me, for his cum
patre qui, the good godly man maketh an end of his holy
sermon and gaspeth a little and galpeth, and getteth him
down from the pulpit (709. E).

Surely this anchor lieth too far aloof from this ship and
hath never a cable to fasten her to it ; for never heard I yet
two things so loosely knit together (759. C).

Except this young man (Frith) in these words of St.
Austin see farther with his young sight than I can with
mine old eyes and my spectacles, I marvel much that e\er
he would bring them in (838. B).

In which books Tindale showed himself so puffed up
with the poison of pride, malice. and envy, that it is more
than marvel that the skin can hold together (283.

We see that this man fareth as one that walked bare foot
upon a field full of thorns, that wotteth not where to tread
(535- C). He scuddeth in and out like a hare that had
twenty brace of greyhounds after her (721. E).

1 Of Fish's Supplication of Beggars.

COLLOQUIAL AND QUAINT PHRASES. 223

Yet in turning the one cheek from me he turneth the
other very fair to me, so that he will have a clap on the one
cheek or the other, make what shift he can (481. F).

Men might peradventure lay a block or twain in his way
that would break his shins ere he leapt over it (539. C).

He will bring forth for the plain proof his old three
worshipful witnesses, which stand yet all unsworn, that is to
wit : Some-say, and They-say, and Folk-say (963. C).

He spinneth that fine lie with flax, fetching it out of his
own body, as the spider spinneth her cobweb (940. C).

If this exposition of his mind may serve to quit him now
(which I am content it do), it is all I promise you that it
may do ; for it will never serve him to recover damages.
For he can never blame no man that perceived not that
before that is scarce credible now (945. D).

He speaketh muqh of mine unwritten dreams and
vanities.1 But here have we a written dream of his, and
therein this foolish boast also, so full of vainglorious vanity,
that if I had dreamed it in a fit of fever, I would (I ween)
have been ashamed to have told my dream to my wife when
I woke (1123. G).

Yet would the devil (I ween) disdain to have his supper
dressed of such a rude ruffian, such a scald Colin cook
(1136. F).

1 Thus Tindale called " unwritten tratitions ".

22 \ Wl-l'i >M \\D \\ I I .

In their only railing, standeth all their revel : with only
railing is their roast meat hasted, and all their pot seasoned,
and all their pie meat spiced, and all their manchets, and
all their wafers, and all their hippocras made (X6<,.

Ifreligious Lutherans may proceed and prosper, th;;
off their habits and walk out and wed nuns and preach
against purgatory, and make mocks of the mass, many men
shall care little for obits within a while, and set no more by
a trental than a ruffian at Rome setteth by a trent-une
(880. I)).

Tindale is as loth, good tender pernell, to take a little
penance of the priest, as the lady was to come any more
to disciplining,1 that wept even for tender heart two days
after when she talked of it, that the priest had on Good
Friday with the disciplining rod beaten her hard upon her
lily-white hands (893. F).

An Almain of mine acquaintance, when I blamed him
lately for not fasting upon a certain day, answered me :
" Fare to souid te laye men fasten ? let te prester fasten " ;
etc. (895. H). ^

The Pacifier saith that the judge may be partial and " the
witness may be a wolf showing himself apparelled in the
apparel of a lamb"; which appearing in apparel, poor men
that cannot apparel their speech with the apparel of rhetoric,
use commonly to call " a wolf in a lamb's skin " ! (910. F).

1 Dyspclyng.

COLLOQUIAL AND QUAINT PHRASES. 225

It is now a world to see with what a courage and bold
ness he boasteth and rejoiceth, and what a joy he maketh,
as he were even made a king by the finding of a bean in a
Christmas cake (776. H).1

He is loth to say that these be heretics, but he sayeth :
" These be they that men call heretics ". Wherein he
speaketh much like as if he would point with his finger to a
flock of fat wethers, and say : " These be such beasts as
men call sheep " (330. B).

In the mean season they be content to play the wily foxes
and worry simple souls and poor lambs as they may catch
them straggling from the fold, or rather like a false shep-
herd's-dog, that would but bark in sight and seem to fetch
in the sheep, and yet kill a lamb in a corner (271. G).

Tindale's defence of his translating presbyteros into elders
is as feeble to stick to as is an old rotten elder stick (426.
H).

Having a little wanton money, which him thought2
burned out the bottom of his purse, in the first year of his
wedding took his wife with him and went over sea, for none
other errand but to see Flanders and France and ride out
one summer in those countries (195. B).

1 Formerly children played at king and queen on the Epiphany.
A bean was hidden in a cake, which was cut in slices and distributed.
The owner of the bean was the king. The game was still played in
my youth. — EDITOR.

2 It seemed to him.

15

226 WISDOM AM) WIT.

A tale that fleeth through many mouths catcheth many
feathers, which when they be pulled away again leave him
as pilled as a coot (238. B).

* He laugheth but from the lips forward, and grinneth as a
dog doth when one porreth him in the teeth with a stick
(432. F).

After his own sweet will (367. F). Alas ! for the dear
mercy of God (837. F). God-a-mercy for right naught
(757- D)- It ^s a world to see the blindness that the devil
hath driven into him (1090. F, 1099. F). Ugly gargoyle
faces (354. G). A stretch-hemp1 (715. A).

Be not so led with a few painted holy words, as it were
with the beholding of a peacock's tail, but that ye regard
therewith his foul feet also (359. A).

As wise as one that, lest his rotten house should fall,
would go about to take down the roof and pull up the
groundsill to undershore the sides with the same (473- E).

Till we lie in our death-bed, where we shall have so many
• things to do at once, and everything so unready, t/ui:
finger shall be a thumb, and we shall fumble it all up in haste
so unhandsomely that we may hap to leave more than half
undone (1299. C).

We shall for this matter trouble you no longer, but every
man may take holy water and go home to dinner, for service
is all done here to-day (942. E).

1 A villain likely to be hung.

COLLOQUIAL AND QUAINT PHRASES. 227

A fond old man is often as full of words as a woman. It
is, you wot well, as some of the poets paint us, all the lust
of an old fool's life, to sit well and warm, with a cup and
roasted crab, and drivel and drink and talk (1169. F).

So help me God and none otherwise, but as I verily
think that many a man buyeth hell with so much pain, that
he might have heaven with less than the one half (1203. E).

Though that, 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 dif
ference there is at the least between them, that as the young
man may hap sometime to die soon, so the old man can
never live long (1172. E).

I wist once a great officer of the king's say (and in good
faith I ween he said but as he thought) that twenty men,
standing barehead before him, kept not his head half so
warm as to keep on his own cap. Nor he never took so
much ease with their being barehead before him, as he
caught once grief with a cough that came upon him by
standing barehead long before the king (1224. G).

A like learned priest that throughout all the gospels
scraped out diabolus and wrote Jesus Christus, because he
thought the devil's name was not meet to stand in so good
a place (421. B).

I never saw fool yet that thought himself other than wise.
For as it is one spark of soberness left in a drunken head,

228 WISDOM AND \\Ti.

when be perceivcth himself drunk and getteth him fair to
bed, so if a fool perceive himself a fool, that point is no
folly, but a little spark of wit (1251. B).

If Adam had abiden in paradise many years more than
he did, and had afterwards before his translation, upon the
suggestion of the old serpent the devil, and of the young
serpent the woman, eaten of the fruit as he did, he had in
any time of his life had the selfsame fall (1289. D).

Covetice (covetousness) is a very prisoner, for he cannot
get away. Pride will away with shame, envy with his
enemy's misery, wrath with fair entreating, sloth with
hunger and pain, lechery with sickness, gluttony with the
belly, too full, but covetice can nothing get away. For the
more full, the more greedy; and the older the more nig
gard ; and the richer the more needy (1297. G).

He that biddeth other folk do well, and giveth evil ex
ample with the contrary deed himself, fareth even like a
foolish weaver, that would weave a part with his one hand
and unweave a part with his other (1319. E).

Commonly, as Juvenal saith, great men's houses be well
stored with saucy malapert merchants,1 and men learn by
their own experience, that, in every country, noblemen's
servants be statelier and much more extreme than are their
lords themselves (1390. H).

1 /'.(•., fellows.

COLLOQUIAL AND QUAINT PHRASKS. 2 29

CLERICAL TONSURE.

Tindale, — Because they be all shaven, so be they all
shameless to affirm that they be the right church, etc.

More. — When he hath, about the proof of this point,
bestowed already his whole chapter afore, wherein he came
forward, perdie ! with his five eggs, and after a great face
made of a great feast, supped them all up himself without
any salt — for all his guests that he bade to supper might
smell them so rotten that they supped off the savour — now
to come forth again with the same tale, and set us to the
same table at supper again, with neither bread nor drink,
flesh, fish nor fruit ! This man well declareth as that
though he be not shaven, but hath the hair of his unshaven
crown grown out at great length, in despite of priesthood,
and like an Iceland cur * let hang over his eyes, yet hath the
man as much shame in his face as a shotten2 herring hath*
shiimps in her tail (626).

FAST.

St. John lived in desert and fasted and fared hard, and
lay hard, and watched and prayed. These folk live in great
towns, and fare well and fast not, no not so much as the
three golden Fridays — that is to wit, the Friday next after
Palm Sunday, and the Friday next afore Easter day, and
Good Friday — but will eat flesh upon all three, and utterly
love no Lenten fast, nor lightly no fast else, saving break
fast, and eat-fast and drink-fast and sleep-fast and lusk-fast
in their lechery, and then come forth and rail fast. This
was not the manner of rebuking that St. John used. And

1 Skye terrier. 2 Gutted and dried.

230 WISDOM AND WIT.

therefore Tindale saith untrue, when he saith they rebuke
after the same manner that St John did the Jews (651. (}).

MORI.'s P.AMIK.

Tindale's heresy reckoneth every woman a priest, and as
able to say mass as was ever St. Peter. And in good faith,
as for such masses as he would have said, without the
canon, without the secrets, without oblation, without
fice, without the Body or Blood of Christ, with bare signs
and tokens instead of the B. Sacrament, I ween a woman
were indeed a more meet priest than St. Peter.

And albeit that neither woman may be priest, nor any
man is priest or hath power to say mass, but if he be by
the sacrament of holy orders taken and consecrated into
that office ; yet since the time that Tindale hath begun his
heresies and sent his erroneous books about, calling every
Christian woman a priest, there is not now in some places
of England the simplest woman in the parish, but that she
doth, and that not in corners secretly, but look on who will,
in open face of the world, in her own parish church, 1 >ay
not hear but say her own self, and (lest you should look for
some riddle) openly revested at the high altar, she saith ( I
say) herself and singeth too (if it be true that I hear re
ported) as many masses in one week, as Tindale himself
either saith or heareth in two whole years together.1

More does not mean that any woman put on the vestments and
said or sung mass, but that they did it as often as Tindah
never. He liked sometimes thus to mystify others.

ANOTHER Kx AMPLE.

Tindale. — "Now, therefore, when they ask us how we
1 Cunf. of Tindale, Works, 623.

COLLOQUIAL AND QUAINT PHRASES. 231

know that it is the Scripture of God, ask them who taught
the eagles to spy out their prey. Even so the children of
God spy out their Father, and Christ's elect spy out their
Lord, and trace out the paths of His feet."

More. — He proveth his point by the ensample of a very
goodly bird and king of all fowls, the pleasant splayed eagle.
For since that such a bird can spy his prey untaught, which he
could never do but by the secret instinct of his excellent nature,
so far exceeding all other, it must needs follow, perdie ! that
Tindale and Luther in likewise, and Huskin,1 and Zuinglius
and such other excellent heretics, being in God's favour as far
above all the Catholic Church as an eagle, the rich royal king
of all birds, is above a poor penny chicken, must needs, with
out any learning of any man, be taught to know the true
Scripture, being their prey to spoil and kill and devour it
as they list, even by the especial inspiration of God.

But now ye see well, good readers, by this reason, that
St. Austin, in respect of these noble eagles that spy their
prey without the means of the Church, was but a silly poor
chicken. For he confesseth plainly, against such high eagle
heretics, that himself had not known nor believed the Gospel
but by the Catholic Church. Howbeit, it is no great marvel,
since God is not so familiar with such simple chickens, as
w'th His gay, glorious eagles. But one thing is there that
I cannot cease to marvel of, since God inspireth Tindale and
such other eagles, and thereby maketh them spy their prey
themselves, how could it happen that the goodly golden old
eagle, Martin Luther himself, in whose goodly golden nest
this young eagle-bird was hatched, lacked that inspiration ?
For he alloweth St. Austin's saying, and denieth not but
1 CEcolampadius.

232 WISDOM AND \vn.

that himself spied and perceived this prey of the true Scrip
ture of God by being showed it by the Catholic Church.

Howbeit I \vis when our young eagle Tindale learned to
spy this prey first, he was not yet full-feathered, but scantily
come out of the shell, nor so high flickered in the air above
all our heads to learn it of his father, the old eagle-heretic,
but was content to come down here and walk on the ground
among other poor fowls, the poor children of his mother, of
whom, when he hath all said, he learned to know this prey.1

AN APT SIMILE.

These heretics always, for the proof of their heresies, seek
out the hardest places that can be found in Scripture, and
all the plain, open words, in which can be no doubt or ques
tion, they come and expound by those places that be dark,
obscure, and hard to understand ; much like a blind guide,
that would, when men were walking in a dark night, put
out the candle and show them the way with the lanthorn.2

ANOTHER.

These heretics be almost as many sects as men, and never
one agreeth with other. So that if the world were to learn
the right way of them, that matter were much like as if a man
walking in a wilderness, that fain would find the right way to
wards the town that he intended, should meet with a many [i.e.,
a company] of lewd, mocking knaves, which, when the poor
man had prayed them to tell him the way, would get them into
a roundel, turning them back to back, and then speak all at
once, and each of them tell him " this way ! " each of them
pointing forth with his hand the way that his face standeth."

1 Con/, of Tindale, Works, 684.
- Ibid., Works, 541. E.
3 Ibid., Works, 707.

INDEX.

15*

INDEX.

Alms, monastic, 170.

Ambition, 58.

Apostasy from fear, 38.

Apostate friars, 175.

Apothecaries, 103.

Atheists, 168.

Avarice, 59, 228 ; charge of, 139-143.

Banter, examples of, 230.

Beggars, 176.

Card-playing, 174.

Carthusians, 168.

Catholic Church, the known, 103 ; dispersed, 108.

„ God's apostle, 104.

,, pillar of truth, 105.

,, laws of, 115.
Ceremonies, 130.

Children, swaddled, 177 ; their games, 175.
Christ will have no half-service, 43.

„ His Passion, 83, 84, 89-92.
Churches, use of, 129.

Clergy, dress of, 178 ; calumnies against, 63, 141.
Coins, 65.
Confession, recommended, 152.

„ seal of, 122.

Confiscation of Church property, 169.
Conscience, scrupulous, 204 ; lax, 205.
Contrition, 121.
Controversies, advice in, 152.
Cross, the true, 142.

„ sign of, 130.
Crosses, relief from, 51.
Councils, general, 106.

(»3S)

236 INDEX.

Death, advantages of, 3 ; entrance to life, 2.

„ natural, may be as painful as martyrdom, 43.

„ desire of, 73 ; patience in, 84,

„ unwillingness to accept, 5, 72.

„ grief at others', 7.

„ bed of, 226 ; repentance at, 46.

„ watching kings, 71.

„ see Martyrdom.
Decretals, 106.
Despair, 45.

Development of doctrine, 108.
Devil, more to be feared than men, 87.

„ assists evil counsels, 63.

„ drives hard bargains, 66.
Drunkenness, 177.
Eagle-heretics, 231.
Edward IV., 178.
English books of piety, 177.

„ Bible into, 124.
Eutrapelia, 15.
Evangelicals, 109.
Exile, 77.
Faith, and reason, 101 ; Catholic, 154.

„ profession of, 38.

,, dulness of, 30.

,, persecution for, 34.
Fasting, 118, 229.

Feet-washing on Shere- Thursday, 171.
Fire of hell, 144.
Flattery, 212.
Flowers, in burial, 177.
Forgiveness, 61.

Fortune, her wheel, 9 ; mutability of, 66.
Free-will, 112, 149.
Friar Frappe, 172.
Frivolity, woe against, 4.
God, sight of, 6, 25.
Grace, an honour to man, 29.
Great men, their discomforts, 69, 227.
their servants, 228.

INDEX. 237

Hairshirts, 121.

Heaven, desire of, g, 25 ; indifference to, 16.

,, not for hell-hounds, 30.
Hell, fire of, 144.

,, dearly bought, 227.
Heresy, defined, 108.

„ hatred of, 168.
Heretics, dogs and hogs, 113 ; blind guides, 232.

„ contradictions of, 232.
Hope, 44-46.

Housel, its signification, 31.
Humility, in greatness, 60.
Images, some curious, 166.
„ use of, 137.
„ breakers of, 183.
Indulgences, 147.
Jokes of More not levity, 20.
Judas, a bad merchant, 64.
Judges and juries, 177.
Jugglers, 176 ; with words, 192.
Kings, not to be slandered, 63.

,, death of, 71.
Knowledge of the simple, 31.
Laughter, when good or bad, 13.
Law-French, 32.
Laws of Church, 115.
Levity, 19-21.
Life, shortness of, 68 ; not a game, 12.

„ its pageants, 2 ; road to gallows, 6.
London, sights in, 156.
Love, power of, 91.
Luther, 112, 187, 231.
Lutheranism, no, in, 121, 149, 171.
Malice, bear no, 61.
Martyrdom, 84-92, 148 ; see Death.
Matins, parochial, 171.
Miracles, true, 162 ; false, 160.
More, a boy at Oxford, 191.

,, fond of fun, 18 ; his jokes, 20; his wit, 11-25.

,, calls himself a giglot, 15.

2^S INDEX,

More, his wisdom, 2-11 ; his cnrncstiu--

his sarcastic spirit, 23.

his peculiar banter, 230.

why he would not take oath, igH.
„ his death, 25.
Old fools, 227 ; misers, 59.
Origen, 192.
Pageants of life, 2.
Papacy, 105, 106.
Penance, 117, 119.
Persecution, 34.
Pilgrimages, 138-141.
Philosophy, 102.
Pico dclla Mirandola, 4.
Prayer, earnest, 53.

„ ignorance in, 53.
Prayers of B. More, 92-96.
Predestination to evil, 150.
Presumption, 45, 46.

Pride, in beauty, 55 ; dress, 56 ; eloquence, 57.
Prison, this world a, 77.
Prisoners, 77.
Prosperity, 68.
Proverbs, 219.
Purgatory, souls in, 75.

,, deniers of, 146.

Reason and faith, 101.
Relapse, 46.
Redemption, 29.
Relics in an image, 166.
Reserve in teaching, 32.
Sabbath, 123.
Saints, honour due to, 132.

„ can they hear ? 133 ; or help ? 136.
Satisfaction, works of, 119.
Scots, 178.
Scripture, translation of, 124.

,, abuse of, 175.
Scrupulosity, 49, 204.
Seal of secrecy in confession, 122.

INDEX.

Sermons, sleeping at, 17.

,, way of concluding, 222.
Shame, endured for God, 81.
Sin, mortal and venial, 33.
Slander of classes, 62.
Sorrow for sin, 47, 121.
Spirituality, false, 128.
Stage plays, 178.
Strangeness, 160.
Superstition, 174.
Tales, use of, 183.

Sleeping at sermon, 17.

Cure for toothache, 36 ; a charm, 174.

Man sea-sick, 42.

A sick physician, 50.

Last words of a blasphemer, 46.

A cut-purse, 59.

Trust in the devil, 64.

Limited faith, 187.

Blind impostor and Duke. Humphrey, 161.

Travellers' lies, 158.

Was our Lady a Jewess ? 163.

Cure of possessed girl, 163.

Image at Barking, 166.

Cliff the Fool, 183.

Paterson the Fool, 194.

Davy the Dutchman, 193.

Grime, the mustard maker, 184.

Origen, 191.

Luther's marriage, 187.

Gallant and friar, 185.

Fears of the night, 200.

A sophister, 191.

A riddle, 191.

Provoking wife, 202.

Talkative wife, 210.

Strange surety, 185.

Strange temptation, 199.

Carver's wife, 190.

Maid and tiler, 186.

239

240 INDIA.

Tales — (Continued).

Destiny, 187.

Good company, 195.

Tenterden Steeple, 188.

Sultan of Syria, 189.

Julian the Apostate, 131.

St. Clement's father, 106.

Diabolus for Jesus, 227.

Flattery, 212.

Wolf, ass, and fox, 204.
Tavern tokens, 150, 176.
Thomas, St., 114.
Tonsure, 229.
Trust in good works, 44.
Uncumber, St., 165.
Vows, breaking of, 108.
Wilgefort, St., 164.

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MORE, THOMAS, SIR,
SAINT, W78-1535.

THE WISDOM AND WIT OF

BLESSED THOMAS MORE
ftIR-9956 (AWAB)