But now the incommodities that you repeat again—­those, I say, that are proper to the imprisonment of its own nature; that is, to have less room to walk and to have the door shut upon us—­these are, methinketh, so very slender and slight that in so great a cause as to suffer for God’s sake we might be sore ashamed so much as once to think upon them.

Many a good man there is, you know, who, without any force at all, or any necessity wherefor he should do so, suffereth these two things willingly of his own choice, with much other hardness more.  Holy monks, I mean, of the Charterhouse order, such as never pass their cells save only to the church, which is set fast by their cells, and thence to their cells again.  And St. Brigit’s order, and St. Clare’s much alike, and in a manner all enclosed religious houses.  And yet anchorites and anchoresses most especially, all whose whole room is less than a good large chamber.  And yet are they there as well content many long years together as are other men—­and better, too—­who walk about the world.  And therefore you may see that the lothness of less room and the door shut upon us, since so many folk are so well content with them and will for God’s love choose to live so, is but a horror enhanced of our own fancy.

And indeed I knew a woman once who came into a prison, to visit of her charity a poor prisoner there.  She found him in a chamber that was fair enough, to say the truth—­at least, it was strong enough!  But with mats of straw the prisoner had made it so warm, both under foot and round about the walls, that in these things, for the keeping of his health, she was on his behalf very glad and very well comforted.  But among many other displeasures that for his sake she was sorry for, one she lamented much in her mind.  And that was that he should have the chamber door made fast upon him by night, by the jailor who was to shut him in.  “For, by my troth,” quoth she, “if the door should be shut upon me, I think it would stop up my breath!” At that word of hers the prisoner laughed in his mind—­but he dared not laugh aloud or say anything to her, for indeed he stood somewhat in awe of her, and he had his food there in great part of her charity for alms.  But he could not but laugh inwardly, for he knew well enough that she used to shut her own chamber door full surely on the inside every night, both door and windows too, and used not to open them all the long night.  And what difference, then, as to the stopping of the breath, whether they were shut up within or without?

And so surely, cousin, these two things that you speak of are neither one of so great weight that in Christ’s cause they ought to move a Christian man.  And one of the twain is so very childish a fancy, that in a matter almost of three chips (unless it were a chance of fire) it should never move any man.

As for those other accidents of hard handling, I am not so mad as to say that they are no grief, but I say that our fear may imagine them much greater grief than they are.  And I say that such as they be, many a man endureth them—­yea, and many a woman too—­who afterward fareth full well.