all so stiff-necked and so intent on things on high that it is amusing to see them, while gazing upwards, and ‘extolling their heads to the stars’ fall straightway into the depths of hell. You too, Asmodai, we all remember your great services in the past; there is none more resolute than you to keep safe his prisoners under lock and key, nor any so unimpeachable. Nowadays a wanton freak provokes only a little laughter, but you came near perishing there from famine during the recent years of dearth. And you, my son Belphegor, verminous prince of sloth, no one has afforded us more pleasure than you; your influence is exceeding great among noblemen and also among the common people, even to the beggar. And were it not for the skill of my daughter Hypocrisy in coloring and adorning, who ever would swallow a single one of our hooks? But after all, if it were not for the unwearying courage of my brother Beelzebub in keeping men in heedless dazedness, ye all would not be worth a straw. Let us once more recapitulate. What good wouldst thou be, Cerberus, with thy foreign whiff, if Mammon did not succour thee? What merchant would ever run such risks to obtain thy paltry leaves from India, except for Mammon’s sake? And only for him what king would receive them, especially into Britain, and who but for his sake would carry them to every part of the kingdom? Yet how worthless thou too wouldst be, Mammon, if Pride did not lavish thee upon fair mansions, fine clothes, needless lawsuits, gardens and horses, extravagant relatives, numerous dishes, floods of beer and ale, beyond the power and station of their owner; for if money were spent within the limit of necessity and of becoming moderation, what would Mammon avail us? Thus thou art nought without Pride; and little would Pride profit without Wantonness, for bastards are the most numerous and the most fierce of all the subjects of my daughter Pride. And thou, Asmodai, what wouldst thou profit us were it not for Sloth and Idleness? Where wouldst thou obtain a night’s lodging? Thou wouldst not dare expect it from a laborer or diligent student. And who, for the dishonor and the shame, would ever give thee, Belphegor the Slothful, a moment’s welcome, if Hypocrisy did not disguise thy foulness under the name of an internal disease, or as a good intent or a seeming despisal of wealth or the like. She too—my dear daughter Hypocrisy—what good is or ever would she be, notwithstanding her skill as a seamstress, and her boldness, without thy aid, my eldest brother, Beelzebub, great chief of Distraction: if he gave people peace and leisure to reflect seriously upon the nature of things and their differences, how long would it take them to find holes in the folds of Hypocrisy’s golden garments, and to see the hooks through the bait? What man in his senses would gather together toys and fleeting pleasures, surfeiting, vain and disgraceful, and choose them in preference to a calm conscience and the bliss of a