right fair gardens in it too, it could not but
grieve his heart to be restrained by another man within certain
limits and bounds, and lose the liberty to be where he please.

ANTHONY: This is, cousin, well considered of you. For in this you
perceive well that imprisonment is, of itself and of its own very
nature alone, nothing else but the retaining of a man's person
within the circuit of a certain space, narrower or larger as shall
be limited to him, restraining his liberty from going further into
any other place.

VINCENT: Very well said, methinketh.

ANTHONY: Yet I forgot, cousin, to ask you one question.

VINCENT: What is that, uncle?

ANTHONY: This, lo: If there be two men kept in two several
chambers of one great castle, of which two chambers the one is much
larger than the other, are they prisoners both, or only the one who
has the less room to walk in?

VINCENT: What question is it, uncle, but that they are both
prisoners, as I said myself before, although the one lay fast
locked in the stocks and the other had all the whole castle to walk
in?

ANTHONY: Methinketh verily, cousin, that you say the truth. And
then, if imprisonment be such a thing as you yourself here agree it
is--that is, but a lack of liberty to go whither we please--now
would I fain know of you what one man you know who is at this day
out of prison?

VINCENT: What one man, uncle? Marry, I know almost none other! For
surely I am acquainted with no prisoner, that I remember.

ANTHONY: Then I see well that you visit poor prisoners seldom.

VINCENT: No, by my troth, uncle, I cry God mercy. I send them
sometimes mine alms, but by my troth I love not to come myself
where I should see such misery.

ANTHONY: In good faith, Cousin Vincent (though I say it before
you) you have many good qualities, but surely (though I say that
before you, too) that is not one of them. If you would amend it,
then should you have yet the more good qualities by one--and
peradventure the more by three or four. For I assure you it is hard
to tell how much good it doth to a man's soul, the personal
visiting of poor prisoners.

But now, since you can name me none of them that are in prison, I
pray you name me some one of all those whom you are, you say,
better acquainted with--men, I mean, who are out of prison. For I
know, methinketh, as few of them as you know of the others.

VINCENT: That would, uncle, be a strange case. For every man is
out of