But now, my good uncle, the world is here waxed such, and so great perils appear here to fall at hand, that methinketh the greatest comfort a man can have is when he can see that he shall soon be gone.  And we who are likely long to live here in wretchedness have need of some comforting counsel against tribulation to be given us by such as you, good uncle.  For you have so long lived virtuously, and are so learned in the law of God that very few are better in this country.  And you have had yourself good experience and assay of such things as we do now fear, as one who hath been taken prisoner in Turkey two times in your days, and is now likely to depart hence ere long.

But that may be your great comfort, good uncle, since you depart to God.  But us of your kindred shall you leave here, a company of sorry comfortless orphans.  For to all of us your good help, comfort, and counsel hath long been a great stay—­not as an uncle to some, and to others as one further of kin, but as though to us all you had been a natural father.

Anthony:  Mine own good cousin, I cannot much deny but what there is indeed, not only here in Hungary but also in almost all places in Christendom, such a customary manner of unchristian comforting.  And in any sick man it doth more harm than good, by drawing him in time of sickness, with looking and longing for life, from the meditation of death, judgment, heaven, and hell, with which he should beset much of his time—­even all his whole life in his best health.  Yet is that manner of comfort to my mind more than mad when it is used to a man of mine age.  For as we well know that a young man may die soon, so are we very sure that an old man cannot live long.  And yet there is (as Tully saith) no man so old but that, for all that, he hopeth yet that he may live one year more, and of a frail folly delighteth to think thereon and comfort himself therewith.  So other men’s words of such comfort, adding more sticks to that fire, shall (in a manner) quite burn up the pleasant moisture that should most refresh him—­the wholesome dew, I mean, of God’s grace, by which he should wish with God’s will to be hence, and long to be with him in Heaven.

Now, as for your taking my departing from you so heavily (as that of one from whom you recognize, of your goodness, to have had here before help and comfort), would God I had done to you and to others half so much as I myself reckon it would have been my duty to do!  But whensoever God may take me hence, to reckon yourselves then comfortless, as though your chief comfort stood in me—­therein would you make, methinketh, a reckoning very much as though you would cast away a strong staff and lean upon a rotten reed.  For God is, and must be, your comfort, and not I. And he is a sure comforter, who (as he said unto his disciples) never leaveth his servants comfortless orphans, not even when he departed from his disciples by death.  But he both sent them a comforter, as he had promised,