And in like wise I think I might (in a manner) well warrant that no
man who denieth our Saviour once and afterward attaineth remission
shall escape through that denial one penny the cheaper, but that he
shall, ere he come to heaven, full surely pay for it.

VINCENT: He shall peradventure, uncle, afterward work it out in
the fruitful works of penance, prayer, and almsdeed, done in true
faith and due charity, and in such wise attain forgiveness well
enough.

ANTHONY: All his forgiveness goeth, cousin, as you see well, but
by "perhaps." But as it may be "perhaps yea," so may it be "perhaps
nay," and where is he then? And yet, you know, he shall never, by
any manner of hap, hap finally to escape from death, for fear of
which he forsook his faith.

VINCENT: No, but he may die his natural death, and escape that
violent death. And then he saveth himself from much pain and so
winneth much ease. For a violent death is ever painful.

ANTHONY: Peradventure he shall not avoid a violent death thereby,
for God is without doubt displeased, and can bring him shortly to
as violent a death by some other way.

Howbeit, I see well that you reckon that whosoever dieth a natural
death, dieth like a wanton even at his ease. You make me remember a
man who was once in a light galley with us on the sea. While the
sea was sore wrought and the waves rose very high, he lay tossed
hither and thither, for he had never been to sea before. The poor
soul groaned sore and for pain thought he would very fain be dead,
and ever he wished, "Would God I were on land, that I might die in
rest!" The waves so troubled him there, with tossing him up and
down, to and fro, that he thought that trouble prevented him from
dying, because the waves would not let him rest! But if he might
get once to land, he thought he should then die there even at his
ease.

VINCENT: Nay, uncle, this is no doubt, but that death is to every
man painful. But yet is not the natural death so painful as the
violent.

ANTHONY: By my troth, cousin, methinketh that the death which men
commonly call "natural" is a violent death to every may whom it
fetcheth hence by force against his will. And that is every man
who, when he dieth, is loth to die and fain would yet live longer
if he could.

Howbeit, cousin, fain would I know who hath told you how small is
the pain in the natural death! As far as I can perceive, those folk
that commonly depart of their natural death have ever