Chapter 17

The prophet saith in the said psalm, "He that dwelleth in the
faithful hope of God's help, he shall abide in the protection or
safeguard of God in heaven. And thou who art such a one, the truth
of him shall so compass thee about with a shield, that thou shalt
not be afraid of the business walking about in the darknesses."

"_Negotium,_ the business," is here, cousin, the name of the devil
who is ever full of busy-ness in tempting folk to much evil
business. His time of tempting is in the darknesses. For you know
well that beside the full night, which is the deep dark, there are
two times of darkness, the one ere the morning wax light, the
other when the evening waxeth dark. Two times of like darkness are
there also in the soul of man: the one ere the light of grace be
well sprung up in the heart, the other when the light of grace
beginneth out of the heart to walk fast away. In these two
darknesses this devil who is called Business busily walketh about,
and he carrieth about with him such foolish folk as will follow
him and setteth them to work with many a manner of bumbling
business.

He setteth some, I say, to seek the pleasures of the flesh in
eating, drinking, and other filthy delight. And some he setteth
about incessant seeking for these worldly goods. And of such busy
folk whom this devil called Business, walking about in the
darknesses, setteth to work with such business, our Saviour saith
in the gospel, "He that walketh in darknesses knoweth not whither
he goeth." And surely in such a state are they--they neither know
which way they go, nor whither. For verily they walk round about
as it were in a round maze; when they think themselves at an end
of their business, they are but at the beginning again. For is not
the going about the serving of the flesh a business that hath no
end, but evermore from the end cometh to the beginning again? Go
they never so full-fed to bed, yet evermore on the morrow, as new
they are to be fed again as they were the day before. Thus fareth
it by the belly; thus fareth it by those parts that are beneath
the belly. And as for covetousness, it fareth like the fire--the
more wood there cometh to it, the more fervent and the more greedy
it is.

But now hath this maze a centre or middle place, into which these
busy folk are sometimes conveyed suddenly when they think they are
not yet far from the brink. The centre or middle place of this
maze is hell. And into that place are these busy folk who with
this devil of business walk about in this busy maze, in the
darkness, sometimes suddenly conveyed, unaware whither they are
going. And that may be even while they think that they have not
walked far from the beginning, and that they have yet a great way
to walk about before they should come to the end. But of these
fleshly folk walking in this busy pleasant maze the scripture
declareth the end: "They lead their life in pleasure, and at a pop
down they descend into hell."

Of the covetous man saith St. Paul, "They that long to be rich do
fall into temptation and into the snare of the devil, and into
many unprofitable and harmful desires, which drown men into death
and destruction." Lo, here in the middle place of this busy maze,
the snare of the devil, the place of perdition and destruction, in
which they fall and are caught and drowned ere they are aware!

The covetous rich man also that our Saviour speaketh of in the
gospel, who had so great plenty of corn that his barns would not
receive it, but intended to make his barns larger, and said unto
himself that he would make merry many days--he thought, you know,
that he had a great way yet to walk. But God said unto him, "Fool,
this night shall they take thy soul from thee, and then all these
goods that thou hast gathered, whose shall they be?" Here, you
see, he fell suddenly into the deep centre of this busy maze, so
that he was fallen full into it ere ever he had thought he should
have come near to it.

Now this I know very well: Those who are walking about in this
busy maze take not their business for any tribulation. And yet are
there many of them as sore wearied in it, and sore panged and
pained, their pleasures being so short, so little, and so few, and
their displeasures and their griefs so great, so continual, and so
many. It maketh me think on a good worshipful man who, when he
divers times beheld what pain his wife took in tightly binding up
her hair to make her a fair large forehead, and with tightly
bracing in her body to make her middle small (both twain to her
great pain) for the pride of a little foolish praise, he said unto
her, "Forsooth, madam, if God give you not hell, he shall do you a
great wrong. For it must needs be your own very right, for you buy
it very dear and take very great pain therefore!"

Those who now lie in hell for their wretched living here do now
perceive their folly in the more pain that they took here for the
less pleasure. There confess they now their folly, and cry out,
"We have been wearied in the way of wickedness." And yet, while
they were walking in that way, they would not rest themselves, but
ran on still in their weariness, and put themselves still unto
more pain and more, for a little childish pleasure, short and soon
gone. For that they took all that labour and pain, beside the
everlasting pain that followed it for their further advantage
afterward. So help me God, but I verily think many a man buyeth
hell here with so much pain that he might have bought heaven with
less than half!

But yet, as I say, while these fleshly and worldly busy folk are
walking about in this round busy maze of the devil called Business
who walketh about in these two times of darkness, their wits are
so bewitched by the secret enchantment of the devil that they mark
not the great long miserable weariness and pain that the devil
maketh them take and endure about naught. And therefore they take
it for no tribulation, so that they need no comfort. And therefore
it is not for their sakes that I speak of all this, saving that it
may serve them for counsel toward the perceiving of their own
foolish misery, through the help of God's grace, beginning to
shine upon them again. But there are very good folk and virtuous
who are in the daylight of grace, and yet the devil tempteth them
busily to such fleshly delight. And since they see plenty of
worldly substance fall unto them, and feel the devil in like wise
busily tempt them to set their hearts upon it, they are sore
troubled therewith. And they begin to fear thereby that they are
not with God in the light but with this devil that the prophet
calleth _Negotium_--that is to say, Business--walking about in the
two times of darknesses.

Howbeit, as I said before of those good folk and gracious who are
in the worldly wealth of great power and authority and thereby
fear the devil's arrow of pride, so say I now here again of these
who stand in dread of fleshly foul sin and covetousness: they do
well to stand ever in moderate fear, lest with waxing over-bold
and setting the thing over-light, they might peradventure mishap
to fall in thereto. Yet, since they are but tempted with it and
follow it not, to vex and trouble themselves sorely with the fear
of loss of God's favour is without necessity and not always
without peril. For, as I said before, it withdraweth the mind of a
man far from the spiritual consolation of the good hope that he
should have in God's help. And as for those temptations, as long
as he who is tempted followeth them not, the fight against them
serveth him for matter of merit and reward in heaven, if he not
only flee the deed, the consent, and the delectation, but also (so
far as he conveniently can) flee from all occasions of them.

And this point is in those fleshly temptations a thing easy to
perceive and plain enough. But in worldly business pertaining unto
covetousness the thing is somewhat more dark and there is more
difficulty in the perceiving. And very great troublous fear of it
doth often arise in the hearts of very good folk, when the world
falleth fast unto them, because of the sore words and terrible
threats that God in holy scripture speaketh against those who are
rich. As, where St. Paul saith, "They that will be rich fall into
temptation, and into the snare of the devil." And where our
Saviour saith himself, "It is more easy for a camel"--or, as some
say, "for a great cable rope," for "camelus" so signifieth in the
Greek tongue--"to go through a needle's eye than for a rich man to
enter into the kingdom of God."

No marvel, now, if good folk who fear God take occasion of great
dread at so dreadful words, when they see the worldly goods fall
to them. And some stand in doubt whether it be lawful for them to
keep any goods or not. But evermore, in all those places of
scripture, the having of the worldly goods is not the thing that
is rebuked and threatened, but the affection that the haver
unlawfully beareth to them. For where St. Paul saith, "they that
will be made rich," he speaketh not of the having but of the will
and desire and affection to have, and the longing for it. For that
cannot be lightly without sin. For the thing that folk sore long
for, they will make many shifts to get and jeopard themselves for.

And to declare that the having of riches is not forbidden, but the
inordinate affection of the mind sore set upon them, the prophet
saith, "If riches flow unto you, set not your heart thereupon."
And albeit that our Lord, by the said example of the camel or
cable rope to come through the needle's eye, said that it is not
only hard but also impossible for a rich man to enter into the
kingdom of heaven, yet he declared that though the rich man cannot
get into heaven of himself, yet God, he said, can get him in well
enough. For unto men he said it was impossible, but not unto God,
for "unto God," he said, "all things are possible." And yet,
beside that, he told of which manner of rich man he meant, who
could not get into the kingdom of heaven, saying, "My babes, how
hard is it for them that put their trust and confidence in their
money, to enter into the kingdom of God!"

VINCENT: This is, I suppose, uncle, very true--and otherwise God
forbid! For otherwise the world would be in a full hard state, if
every rich man were in such danger and peril.

ANTHONY: That would it be, cousin, indeed. And so I suppose it is
yet. For I fear me that to the multitude there are very few who
long not sorely to be rich. And of those who so long to be, there
are also very few reserved who set not their heart very sorely
thereon.

VINCENT: This is, uncle, I fear me, very true, but yet not the
thing that I was about to speak of. But the thing that I would
have said was this: I cannot well perceive (the world being such
as it is, and so many poor people in it) how any man can be rich,
and keep himself rich, without danger of damnation for it.

For all the while he seeth so many poor people who lack, while he
himself hath wherewith to give them. And their necessity he is
bound in such case of duty to relieve, while he hath wherewith to
do so--so far forth that holy St. Ambrose saith that whosoever die
for default, where we might help them, we kill them. I cannot see
but that every rich man hath great cause to stand in great fear of
damnation, nor can I perceive, as I say, how he can be delivered
of that fear as long as he keepeth his riches. And therefore,
though he might keep his riches if there lacked poor men and yet
stand in God's favour therewith, as Abraham did and many another
holy rich man since; yet with such an abundance of poor men as
there is now in every country, any man who keepeth any riches must
needs have an inordinate affection unto it, since he giveth it not
out unto the poor needy persons, as the duty of charity bindeth
and constraineth him to.

And thus, uncle, in this world at this day, meseemeth your comfort
unto good men who are rich, and are troubled with fear of
damnation for the keeping, can very scantly serve.

ANTHONY: Hard is it, cousin, in many manner of things, to bid or
forbid, affirm or deny, reprove or approve, a matter nakedly
proposed and put forth; or precisely to say "This thing is
good," or "This thing is evil," without consideration of the
circumstances.

Holy St. Austine telleth of a physician who gave a man in a certain
disease a medicine that helped him. The selfsame man at another
time in the selfsame disease took the selfsame medicine himself,
and had of it more harm than good. This he told the physician, and
asked him how the harm should have happened. "That medicine," quoth
he, "did thee no good but harm because thou tookest it when I gave
it thee not." This answer St. Austine very well approveth, because,
though the medicine were the same, yet might there be peradventure
in the sickness some such difference as the patient perceived
not--yea, or in the man himself, or in the place, or in the time of
the year. Many things might make the hindrance, for which the
physician would not then have given him the selfsame medicine that
he gave him before.

To peruse every circumstance that might, cousin, in this matter be
touched, and were to be considered and weighed, would indeed make
this part of this devil of Business a very busy piece of work and
a long one! But I shall open a little the point that you speak of,
and shall show you what I think therein, with as few words as I
conveniently can. And then will we go to dinner.

First, cousin, he who is a rich man and keepeth all his goods, he
hath, I think, very good cause to be very afraid indeed. And yet I
fear me that such folk fear the least. For they are very far from
the state of good men, since, if they keep all, they are then very
far from charity, and do, as you know well, either little alms or
none at all.

But now our question, cousin, is not in what case that rich man
standeth who keepeth all, but whether we should suffer men to
stand in a perilous dread and fear for the keeping of any great
part. For if, by the keeping of so much as maketh a rich man
still, they stand in the state of damnation, then are the curates
bound to tell them so plainly, according to the commandment of God
given unto them all in the person of Ezechiel: "If, when I say to
the wicked man, 'Thou shalt die,' thou do not show it unto him,
nor speak unto him that he may be turned from his wicked way and
live, he shall soothly die in his wickedness and his blood shall I
require of thine hand."

But, cousin, though God invited men unto the following of himself
in wilful poverty, by the leaving of everything at once for his
sake--as the thing by which, being out of solicitude of worldly
business and far from the desire of earthly commodities, they may
the more speedily get and attain the state of spiritual
perfection, and the hungry desire and longing for celestial
things--yet doth he not command every man to do so upon the peril
of damnation. For where he saith, "He that forsaketh not all that
ever he hath, cannot be my disciple," he declareth well, by other
words of his own in the selfsame place a little before, what he
meaneth. For there saith he more, "He that cometh to me, and
hateth not his father, and his mother, and his wife, and his
children, and his brethren, and his sisters, yea and his own life
too, cannot be my disciple." Here meaneth our Saviour Christ that
no one can be his disciple unless he love him so far above all his
kin, and above his own life, too, that for the love of him, rather
than forsake him, he shall forsake them all. And so meaneth he by
those other words that whosoever do not so renounce and forsake
all that ever he hath in his own heart and affection, so that he
will lose it all and let it go every whit, rather than deadly to
displease God with the reserving of any one part of it, he cannot
be Christ's disciple. For Christ teacheth us to love God above all
things, and he loveth not God above all things who, contrary to
God's pleasure, keepeth anything that he hath. For he showeth
himself to set more by that thing than by God, since he is better
content to lose God than it. But, as I said, to give away all, or
that no man should be rich or have substance, that find I no
commandment of.

There are, as our Saviour saith, in the house of his father many
mansions. And happy shall he be who shall have the grace to dwell
even in the lowest. It seemeth verily by the gospel that those who
for God's sake patiently suffer penury, shall not only dwell in
heaven above those who live here in plenty in earth, but also that
heaven in some manner of wise more properly belongeth unto them and
is more especially prepared for them than it is for the rich. For
God in the gospel counseleth the rich folk to buy (in a manner)
heaven of them, where he saith unto the rich men, "Make yourselves
friends of the wicked riches, that when you fail here they may
receive you into everlasting tabernacles."

But now, although this be thus, in respect of the riches and the
poverty compared together, yet if a rich man and a poor man be
both good men, there may be some other virtue beside in which the
rich man may peradventure so excel that he may in heaven be far
above that poor man who was here on earth in other virtues far
under him. And the proof appeareth clear in Lazarus and Abraham.

Nor I say not this to the intent to comfort rich men in heaping up
riches, for a little comfort will bend them enough thereto. They
are not so proud-hearted and obstinate but what they would, I
daresay, with right little exhortation be very conformable to that
counsel! But I say this for those good men to whom God giveth
substance, and the mind to dispose it well, and yet not the mind
to give it all away at once, but for good causes to keep some
substance still. Let them not despair of God's favour for not
doing the thing which God hath given them no commandment of, nor
drawn them to by any special calling.

Zachaeus, lo, who climbed up into the tree, for desire that he had
to behold our Saviour: at such a time as Christ called aloud unto
him and said, "Zachaeus, make haste and come down, for this day
must I dwell in thy house," he was glad and touched inwardly with
special grace to the profit of his soul. All the people murmured
much that Christ would call him and be so familiar with him as, of
his own offer, to come unto his house. For they knew him for the
chief of the publicans, who were custom-men or toll-gatherers of
the Emperor's duties, all which whole company were among the
people sore infamous for ravine, extortion, and bribery. And then
Zachaeus not only was the chief of the fellowship but also was
grown greatly rich, whereby the people accounted him in their own
opinion for a man very sinful and wicked. Yet he forthwith, by the
instinct of the spirit of God, in reproach of all such temerarious
bold and blind judgment, given upon a man whose inward mind and
sudden change they cannot see, shortly proved them all deceived.
And he proved that our Lord had, at those few words outwardly
spoken to him, so wrought in his heart within that whatsoever he
was before, he was then, unawares to them all, suddenly waxed
good. For he made haste and came down, and gladly received Christ,
and said, "Lo, Lord, the one half of my goods here I give unto
poor people. And yet, over that, if I have in anything deceived
any man, here am I ready to recompense him fourfold as much."

VINCENT: This was, uncle, a gracious hearing. But yet I marvel me
somewhat, wherefore Zachaeus used his words in that manner of
order. For methinketh he should first have spoken of making
restitution unto those whom he had beguiled, and then spoken of
giving his alms afterward. For restitution is, you know, duty, and
a thing of such necessity that in respect of restitution almsdeed
is but voluntary. Therefore it might seem that to put men in mind
of their duty in making restitution first, and doing their alms
afterward, Zachaeus would have spoken more fittingly if he had
said first that he would make every man restitution whom he had
wronged, and then give half in alms of that which remained
afterward. For only that might he call clearly his own.

ANTHONY: This is true, cousin, where a man hath not enough to
suffice for both. But he who hath, is not bound to leave his alms
ungiven to the poor man who is at hand and peradventure calleth
upon him, till he go seek up all his creditors and all those whom
he hath wronged--who are peradventure so far asunder that, leaving
the one good deed undone the while, he may, before they come
together, change that good intent again and do neither the one nor
the other. It is good always to be doing some good out of hand,
while we think on it; grace shall the better stand with us and
increase also, to go the further in the other afterward.

And this I would answer, if the man had there done the one out of
hand--the giving, I mean, of half in alms--and not so much as
spoken of restitution till afterward. Whereas now, though he spoke
the one in order before the other (and yet all at one time) it
remained still in his liberty to put them both in execution, after
such order as he should then think expedient. But now, cousin, did
the spirit of God temper the tongue of Zachaeus in the utterance
of these words in such wise that it may well appear that the
saying of the wise man is verified in them, where he saith, "To
God it belongeth to govern the tongue." For here, when he said
that he would give half of his goods unto poor people and yet
beside that not only recompense any man whom he had wronged but
more than recompense him by three times as much again, he doubly
reproved the false suspicion of the people. For they accounted him
for so evil that they reckoned in their mind all his goods wrongly
gotten, because he was grown to substance in that office that was
commonly misused with extortion. But his words declared that he
was deep enough in his reckoning so that, if half his goods were
given away, he would yet be well able to yield every man his due
with the other half--and yet leave himself no beggar either, for
he said not he would give away all.

Would God, cousin, that every rich Christian man who is reputed
right worshipful--yea, and (which yet, to my mind, is more)
reckoned for right honest, too--would and could do the thing that
little Zachaeus, that same great publican, were he Jew or were he
paynim, said that he would do: that is, with less than half his
goods, to recompense every man whom he had wronged four times as
much. Yea, yea, cousin, as much for as much, hardly! And then they
who receive it shall be content, I dare promise for them, to let
the other thrice-as-much go, and forgive it. Because that was one
of the hard points of the old law, whereas Christian men must be
full of forgiving, and not require and exact their amends to the
uttermost.

But now, for our purpose here: He promised neither to give away
all nor to become a beggar--no, nor yet to leave off his office
either. For, albeit that he had not used it before peradventure in
every point so pure as St. John the Baptist had taught them the
lesson: "Do no more than is appointed unto you," yet he might both
lawfully use his substance that he intended to reserve, and
lawfully might use his office, too, in receiving the prince's
duty, according to Christ's express commandment, "Give the Emperor
those things that are his," refusing all extortion and bribery
besides. Yet our Lord, well approving his good purpose, and
exacting no further of him concerning his worldly behaviour,
answered and said, "This day is health come to this house, for he
too is the son of Abraham."

But now I forget not, cousin, that in effect you conceded to me
thus far: that a man may be rich and yet not out of the state of
grace, nor out of God's favour. Howbeit, you think that, though it
may be so in some time or in some other place, yet at this time
and in this place, or any other such in which there be so many
poor people, upon whom you think they are bound to bestow their
goods, they can keep no riches with conscience.

Verily, cousin, if that reason would hold, I daresay the world was
never such anywhere that any man might have kept any substance
without the danger of damnation. For since Christ's days to the
world's end, we have the witness of his own word that there hath
never lacked poor men nor ever shall. For he said himself, "Poor
men shall you always have with you, unto whom, when you will, you
may do good." So that, as I tell you, if your rule should hold,
then I suppose there would be no place, in no time, since Christ's
days hitherto, nor I think in as long before that either, nor never
shall there be hereafter, in which any man could abide rich
without the danger of eternal damnation, even for his riches
alone, though he demeaned himself never so well.

But, cousin, men of substance must there be. For otherwise shall
you have more beggars, perdy, than there are, and no man left able
to relieve another. For this I think in my mind a very sure
conclusion: If all the money that is in this country were tomorrow
brought together out of every man's hand and laid all upon one
heap, and then divided out unto every man alike, it would be on
the morrow after worse than it was the day before. For I suppose
that when it were all equally thus divided among all, the best
would be left little better then than almost a beggar is now. And
yet he who was a beggar before, all that he shall be the richer
for, that he should thereby receive, shall not make him much above
a beggar still. But many a one of the rich men, if their riches
stood but in movable substance, shall be safe enough from riches,
haply for all their life after!

Men cannot, you know, live here in this world unless some one man
provide a means of living for many others. Every man cannot have a
ship of his own, nor every man be a merchant without a stock. And
these things, you know, must needs be had. Nor can every man have a
plough by himself. And who could live by the tailor's craft, if no
man were able to have a gown made? Who could live by masonry, or
who could live a carpenter, if no man were able to build either
church or house? Who would be the makers of any manner of cloth, if
there lacked men of substance to set sundry sorts to work? Some man
who hath not two ducats in his house would do better to lose them
both and leave himself not a farthing, but utterly lose all his
own, rather than that some rich man by whom he is weekly set to
work should lose one half of his money. For then would he himself
be likely to lack work. For surely the rich man's substance is the
wellspring of the poor man's living. And therefore here would it
fare by the poor man as it fared by the woman in one of Æsop's
fables. She had a hen that laid her every day a golden egg, till on
a day she thought she would have a great many eggs at once. And
therefore she killed her hen and found but one or twain in her
belly, so that for a few she lost many.

But now, cousin, to come to your doubt how it can be that a man
may with conscience keep riches with him, when he seeth so many
poor men on whom he may bestow them. Verily, that might he not
with conscience do, if he must bestow it upon as many as he can.
And so much of truth every rich man do, if all the poor folk that
he seeth are so specially by God's commandment committed unto his
charge alone that, because our Saviour said, "Give to every man
who asketh thee," therefore he is bound to give out still to every
beggar who will ask him, as long as any penny lasteth in his
purse. But verily, cousin, that saying hath (as St. Austine saith
other places in scripture have) need of interpretation. For, as
holy St. Austine saith, though Christ say, "Give to every man who
asketh thee," he saith not yet, "Give them all that they will ask
thee." But surely they would be the same, if he meant to bind me
by commandment to give every man without exception something. For
so should I leave myself nothing.

Our Saviour, in that place of the sixth chapter of St. Luke,
speaketh both of the contempt that we should have in heart of
these worldly things, and also of the manner that men should use
toward their enemies. For there he biddeth us love our enemies,
give good words for evil, and not only suffer injuries patiently
(both the taking away of our goods and harm done unto our body),
but also be ready to suffer the double, and over that to do good
in return to those who do us the harm. And among these things he
biddeth us give to every man who asketh, meaning that when we can
conveniently do a man good, we should not refuse it, whatsoever
manner of man he may be, though he were our mortal enemy, if we
see that unless we help him ourselves, the person of that man
should stand in peril of perishing. And therefore saith St. Paul,
"If thine enemy be in hunger, give him meat."

But now, though I be bound to give every manner of man in some
manner of his necessity, were he my friend or my foe, Christian
man or heathen, yet am I not bound alike unto all men, nor unto
any many in every case alike. But, as I began to tell you, the
differences of the circumstances make great change in the matter.
St. Paul saith, "He that provideth not for those that are his, is
worse than an infidel." Those are ours who are belonging to our
charge, either by nature or by law, or any commandment of God. By
nature, as our children; by law, as our servants in our household.
Albeit these two sorts be not ours all alike, yet would I think
that the least ours of the twain--that is, the servants--if they
need, and lack, we are bound to look to them and provide for their
need, and see, so far as we can, that they lack not the things
that should serve for their necessity while they dwell in our
service. Meseemeth also that if they fall sick in our service, so
that they cannot do the service that we retain them for, yet may
we not in any wise turn them out of doors and cast them up
comfortless, while they are not able to labour and help
themselves. For this would be a thing against all humanity. And
surely, if a man were but a wayfarer whom I received into my house
as a guest, if he fell sick there and his money be gone, I reckon
myself bound to keep him still, and rather to beg about for his
relief than to cast him out in that condition to the peril of his
life, whatsoever loss I should happen to sustain in the keeping of
him. For when God hath by such chance sent him to me and there
once matched me with him, I reckon myself surely charged with him
until I may, without peril of his life, be well and conveniently
discharged of him.

By God's commandment our parents are in our charge, for by nature
we are in theirs. Since, as St. Paul saith, it is not the
children's part to provide for the parents but the parents' to
provide for the children. Provide, I mean, conveniently--good
learning or good occupations to get their living by, with truth
and the favour of God--but not to make provision for them of such
manner of living as they should live the worse toward God for. But
rather, if they see by their manner that too much would make them
wicked, the father should then give them a great deal less. But
although nature put not the parents in the children's charge, yet
not only God commandeth but the order of nature compelleth, that
the children should both in reverent behaviour honour their father
and mother, and also in all their necessity maintain them. And
yet, as much as God and nature both bind us to the sustenance of
our father, his need may be so little (though it be somewhat) and
another man's so great, that both nature and God also would that I
should, in such unequal need, relieve that urgent necessity of a
stranger--yea, my foe, and God's enemy too, the very Turk or
Saracen--before a little need, and unlikely to do great harm, in
my father and my mother too. For so ought they both twain
themselves to be well content that I should.

But now, cousin, outside of such extreme need well perceived and
known unto myself, I am not bound to give to every beggar who will
ask; nor to believe every imposter that I meet in the street who
will say himself that he is very sick; nor to reckon all the poor
folk committed by God only so to my charge alone, that no other
man should give them anything of his until I have first given out
all mine. Nor am I bound either to have so evil opinion of all
other folk save myself as to think that, unless I help, the poor
folk shall all fail at once, for God hath left in all this quarter
no more good folk now but me! I may think better of my neighbours
and worse of myself than that, and yet come to heaven, by God's
grace, well enough.

VINCENT: Marry, uncle, but some man will peradventure be right
content, in such cases, to think his neighbours very charitable,
to the intent that he may think himself at liberty to give nothing
at all.

ANTHONY: That is, cousin, very true. Some will be content either
to think so, or to make as though they thought so. But those are
they who are content to give naught because they are naught! But
our question is, cousin, not of them, but of good folk who, by
the keeping of worldly goods, stand in great fear to offend God.
For the quieting of their conscience speak we now, to the intent
that they may perceive what manner of having of worldly goods, and
keeping of them, may stand with the state of grace.

Now think I, cousin, that if a man keep riches about him for a
glory and royalty of the world, taking a great delight in the
consideration of it and liking himself for it, and taking him who
is poorer for the lack of it as one far worse than himself, such a
mind is very vain foolish pride and such a man is very wicked
indeed. But on the other hand, there may be a man--such as would
God there were many!--who hath no love unto riches, but having it
fall abundantly unto him, taketh for his own part no great
pleasure of it, but, as though he had it not, keepeth himself in
like abstinence and penance privily as he would do in case he had
it not. And, in such things as he doth openly, he may bestow
somewhat more liberally upon himself in his house after some
manner of the world, lest he should give other folk occasion to
marvel and muse and talk of his manner and misreport him for a
hypocrite. And therein, between God and him, he may truly protest
and testify, as did the good queen Hester, that he doth it not for
any desire thereof in the satisfying of his own pleasure, but
would with as good will or better forbear the possession of
riches, saving them--as perhaps in keeping a good household in
good Christian order and fashion, and in setting other folk to
work with such things as they gain their living the better by his
means. If there be such a man, his having of riches methinketh I
might in a manner match in merit with another man's forsaking of
all. Or so would it be if there were no other circumstances more
pleasing unto God added further unto the forsaking besides, as
perhaps for the more fervent contemplation by reason of the
solicitude of all worldly business being left off, which was the
thing that made Mary Magdalene's part the better. For otherwise
would Christ have given her much more thanks to go about and be
busy in the helping her sister Martha to dress his dinner, than to
take her stool and sit down at her ease and do naught.

Now, if he who hath these goods and riches by him, have not haply
fully so perfect a mind, but somewhat loveth to keep himself from
lack; and if he be not, so fully as a pure Christian fashion
requireth, determined to abandon his pleasure--well, what will you
more? The man is so much the less perfect than I would that he
were, and haply than he himself would wish, if it were as easy to
be it as to wish it. But yet is he not forthwith in the state of
damnation, for all that. No more than every man is forthwith in a
state of damnation who, forsaking all and entering into religion,
is not yet always so clear purified from worldly affections as he
himself would very fain that he were, and much bewaileth that he
is not. Many a man, who hath in the world willingly forsaken the
likelihood of right worshipful offices, hath afterward had much
ado to keep himself from the desire of the office of cellarer or
sexton, to bear yet at least some rule and authority, though it
were but among the bellies. But God is more merciful to man's
imperfection--if the man know it, and acknowledge it, and mislike
it, and little by little labour to amend it--than to reject and
cast off to the devil him who, according as his frailty can bear
and suffer, hath a general intent and purpose to please him and to
prefer or set by nothing in this world before him.

And therefore, cousin, to make an end of this piece withal--of
this devil, I mean, whom the prophet calleth "Business walking in
the darknesses": If a man have a mind to serve God and please him,
and would rather lose all the goods he hath than wittingly to do
deadly sin; and if he would, without murmur or grudge, give it
every whit away in case God should so command him, and intend to
take it patiently if God would take it from him; and if he would
be glad to use it unto God's pleasure, and do his diligence to
know and be taught what manner of using of it God would be pleased
with; and if he be glad to follow therein, from time to time, the
counsel of good virtuous men, though he neither give away all at
once, nor give to every man who asketh him neither; and though
every man should fear and think in this world that all the good
that he doth or can do is a great deal too little--yet, for all
that fear, let that man dwell in the faithful hope of God's help!
And then shall the truth of God so compass him about, as the
prophet saith, with a shield, that he shall not so need to dread
the snares and the temptations of this devil whom the prophet
calleth "Business walking about in the darknesses." But he shall,
for all the having of riches and worldly substance, so avoid his
snares and temptations, that he shall in conclusion, by the great
grace and almighty mercy of God, get into heaven well enough.

And now was I, cousin, after this piece thus ended, about to bid
them bring in our dinner. But now shall I not need to, lo, for
here they come with it already.

VINCENT: Forsooth, good uncle, God disposeth and timeth your
matter and your dinner both, I trust. For the end of your good
tale--for which our Lord reward you!--and the beginning here of
your good dinner too (from which it would be more than pity that
you should any longer have tarried) meet even at the close
together.

ANTHONY: Well, cousin, now will we say grace. And then for a
while will we leave talking and essay how our dinner shall please
us, and how fair we can fall to feeding. After that, you know my
customary guise (for "manner" I cannot call it, because the guise
is unmannerly) to bid you not farewell but steal away from you to
sleep. But you know I am not wont to sleep long in the afternoon,
but even a little to forget the world. And when I wake, I will
again come to you. And then is, God willing, all this long day
ours, in which we shall have time enough to talk much more than
shall suffice for the finishing of this one part of our matter
that now alone remaineth.

VINCENT: I pray you, good uncle, keep your customary manner, for
"manner" may you call it well enough. For as it would be against
good manners to look that a man should kneel down for courtesy
when his knee is sore, so is it very good manners that a man of
your age (aggrieved with such sundry sicknesses besides, that
suffer you not always to sleep when you should) should not let his
sleep slip away but should take it when he can. And I will, uncle,
in the meanwhile steal from you, too, and speed a little errand
and return to you again.

ANTHONY: Stay as long as you will, and when you have dined go at
your pleasure. But I pray you, tarry not long.

VINCENT: You shall not need, uncle, to put me in mind of that, I
would so fain have up the rest of our matter.

Chapter 17

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