Harper's New Monthly Magazine, Vol. III, No. XVII, October 1851Various
History
Harper's New Monthly Magazine, Vol. III, No. XVII, October 1851
Various
American literature -- Periodicals; Civilization -- Periodicals; Culture -- Periodicals
"And surelie, Meg," quoth he, "'tis pitie that anie Christian prince
shoulde, by a flexible council readie to follow his affections, and by a
weak clergy lacking grace to stand constantly to the truth as they
learned it, be with flattery so constantly abused. The lotus fruit
fabled by the ancients, which made them that ate it lose alle relish for
the daylie bread of their own homes, was flattery, Meg, as I take it,
and nothing else. And what less was the song of the Syrens, agaynst
which Ulysses made the sailors stop their ears, and which he, with all
his wisdom, coulde not listen to without struggling to be unbound from
the mast? Even praise, Meg, which, moderately given, may animate and
cheer forward the noblest minds, yet too lavishly bestowed, will
decrease and palsy their strength, e'en as an overdose of the most
generous and sprightlie medicine may prove mortiferous. But flattery is
noe medicine, but a rank poison, which hath slayn kings, yea, and mighty
kings; and they who love it, the Lord knoweth afar off; knoweth
distantlie, has no care to know intimatelie, for they are none of his."
Thus we went on, from one theme to another, till methinketh a heavenlie
light seemed to shine alle about us like as when the angel entered the
prison of Peter. I hung upon everie word and thought that issued from
his lips, and drank them in as thirsty land sucks up the tender rain....
Had the angel of death at that hour come to fetch both of us away, I
woulde not have sayd him nay, I was soe passivelie, so intenselie happy.
At length, as time wore on, and I knew I shoulde soone be fetcht forthe,
I coulde not but wish I had the clew to some secret passage or
subterreneal, of which there were doubtless plenty in the thick walls,
whereby we might steal off together. Father made answer, "Wishes never
filled a sack. I make it my businesse, Meg, to wish as little as I can,
except that I were better and wiser. You fancy these four walls
lonesome; how oft, dost thou suppose, I here receive Plato and Socrates,
and this and that holy saint and martyr? My jailors can noe more keep
them out than they can exclude the sunbeams. Thou knowest, Jesus stood
among his disciples when the doors were shut. I am not more lonely than
St. Anthony in his cave, and I have a divine light e'en here, whereby to
con the lesson 'God is love.' The futility of our enemies' efforts to
make us miserable was never more stronglie proven to me than when I was
a mere boy in Cardinal Morton's service. Having unwittinglie angered one
of his chaplains, a choleric and even malignant-spirited man, he did, of
his owne authoritie, shut me up for some hours in a certayn damp vault,
which, to a lad afeard of ghosts and devilish apparitions, would have
been fearsome enow. Howbeit, I there cast myself on the ground with my
back sett agaynst the wall, and mine arm behind my head, this fashion
... and did then and there, by reason of a young heart, quiet
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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