to take
such recreation. And Solomon saith, I believe, that men should in
heaviness give the sorry man wine, to make him forget his sorrow.
And St. Thomas saith that proper pleasant talking, which is called
_eutrapelia,_ is a good virtue, serving to refresh the mind and
make it quick and eager to labour and study again, whereas
continual fatigue would make it dull and deadly.

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

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