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

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

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

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

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

VINCENT: Yea