“Then you shall scarce know the week before, I think.”
“Oh, no! but the saint shall know. Look you, Dame, to be too much of a saint should stand sore in man’s way. I could not sing, nor dance, nor lake me a bit, if I were a saint; and that fashion of saintliness you speak of must needs be sorest of all. If I do but just get it to go to Heaven with, that shall serve me the best.”
“I thought they sang in Heaven,” saith Isabel.
“Bless you, Damsel!—nought but Church music.”
“Dame Hilda, I marvel if you would be happy in Heaven.”
“Oh, I should be like, when I got there.”
My Lady shook her head.
“For that,” quoth she, “you must be partaker of the Divine nature. Which means not, doing good works contrary to your liking, but having the nature which delights in doing them.”
“Oh, ay, that will come when we be there.”
“On the contrary part, they that have it not here on earth shall not win there. They only that be partakers of Christ may look to enter Heaven. And no man that partaketh Christ’s merits can miss to partake Christ’s nature.”