A. Thou understandest it rightly; I can not gainsay that.
R. If then it ever happen that thou shalt find thyself full whole and full strong, and hast all thy friends with thee, both in mind and in body, and in that same work and in that same will which pleaseth thee best to do, wilt thou then be happy at all?
A. Yea, verily; if it should now suddenly happen, I do not know how on earth I would begin.
R. Hast thou not then still some trouble, such as immoderate sorrow, either of mind or of body—seeing now thou hast those two things? Wert thou, therefore, foolish in heart, when thou didst wish that thou shouldst see with such eyes the high and everlasting Sun?
A. Now thou hast overcome me withal, so that I by no means know how much of health I have, nor how much of sickness.
R. That is no wonder. No man hath such sound eyes that he can look any length of time toward the sun which we here see, much less if he have weak eyes. But those that have weak eyes can be more at ease in the darkness than in the light. Methinks, though, that it seemeth to thee that thou hast sound eyes. Thou thinkest of the health of thy soul's eyes, but thou dost not think of the great light which thou wishest to see. Be not wroth with me, albeit I question thee and examine thee, for I needs must do that. Methinks thou dost not understand thyself.
A. I am in no wise wroth with thee, but rejoice in what thou sayest, because I know that thou seekest my good.
R. Wishest thou any wealth?
A. Long ago I resolved that I should despise it. I am now three and thirty years old, and I was one less than twenty when I first resolved that I would not love wealth overmuch. Though enough should come to me, I would not rejoice very much, nor enjoy it too immoderately, nor would I gain more to keep than I could fitly make use of, and keep and support the men on, whom I must help; and the residue I think as orderly to divide as I best am able so to do.
R. Wishest thou any honor?