n this general prison--the large prison, I mean, of
this whole world--folk are, for the time that they are in it, as
sore handled and as hardly, and wrenched and wrung and broken in
such painful wise, that our hearts (save that we consider it not)
have with reason good and great cause to grudge against the hard
handling that there is in this prison--and, as far as pertaineth
only to the respect of pain, as much horror to conceive against
it--as against the other that there is in that one.

VINCENT: Indeed, uncle, it is true that you said you would prove
this.

ANTHONY: Nay, so much said I not, cousin! But I said that I would
if I could, and if I could not, then would I therein give over my
part. But I trust, cousin, that I shall not need to do that--the
thing seemeth to me so plain.

For, cousin, not only the prince and king but also the chief jailor
over this whole broad prison the world (though he have both angels
and devils who are jailors under him) is, I take it, God. And that
I suppose you will grant me, too.

VINCENT: That will I not deny, uncle.

ANTHONY: If a man, cousin, be committed unto prison for no cause
but to be kept, though there be never so great a charge against
him, yet his keeper, if he be good and honest, is neither so cruel
as to pain the man out of malice, nor so covetous as to put him to
pain to make him seek his friends and pay for a pennyworth of ease.
If the place be such that he is sure to keep him safe otherwise, or
if he can get surety for the recompense of more harm than he seeth
he should have if he escaped, he will never handle him in any such
hard fashion as we most abhor imprisonment for. But marry, if the
place be such that the keeper cannot otherwise be sure, then is he
compelled to keep him to that extent the straiter. And also if the
prisoner be unruly and fall to fighting with his fellows or do some
other manner of ill turns, then useth the keeper to punish him in
some such fashions as you yourself have spoken of.

Now, cousin, God--the chief jailor, as I say, of this broad prison
the world--is neither cruel nor covetous. And this prison is also
so sure and so subtly built that, albeit that it lieth open on
every side without any wall in the world, yet, wander we never so
far about in it, we shall never find the way to get out. So God
neither needeth to collar us nor to stock us for any fear of our
escaping away. And therefore, unless he see some other cause than
onl