But since you ask my mind in the matter, as to whether men in tribulation may not lawfully seek recreation and comfort themselves with some honest mirth (first agreed that our chief comfort must be in God and that with him we must begin and with him continue and with him end also), that a man should take now and then some honest worldly mirth, I dare not be so sore as utterly to forbid it.  For good men and well learned have in some cases allowed it, especially for the diversity of divers men’s minds.  Otherwise, if we were also such as would God we were (and such as natural wisdom would that we should be, and is not clean excusable that we be not indeed), I would then put no doubt but that unto any man the most comforting talking that could be would be to hear of heaven.  Whereas now, God help us, our wretchedness is such that in talking a while of it, men wax almost weary.  And, as though to hear of heaven were a heavy burden, they must refresh themselves afterward with a foolish tale.  Our affection toward heavenly joys waxeth wonderfully cold.  If dread of hell were as far gone, very few would fear God, but that yet sticketh a little in our stomachs.  Mark me, cousin, at the sermon, and commonly toward the end, somewhat the preacher speaketh of hell and heaven.  Now, while he preacheth of the pains of hell, still they stay and give him the hearing.  But as soon as he cometh to the joys of heaven, they are busking them backward and flockmeal fall away.

It is in the soul somewhat as it is in the body:  There are some who are come, either by nature or by evil custom, to that point where a worse thing sometimes more steadeth them than a better.  Some men, if they be sick, can away with no wholesome meat, nor no medicine can go down with them, unless it be tempered for their fancy with something that maketh the meat or the medicine less wholesome than it should be.  And yet, while it will be no better, we must let them have it so.

Cassian (that very virtuous man) rehearseth in a certain conference of his that a certain holy father, in making of a sermon, spoke of heaven and heavenly things so celestially that much of his audience, with the sweet sound of it, began to forget all the world and fall asleep.  When the father beheld this, he dissembled their sleeping and suddenly said to them, “I shall tell you a merry tale.”  At that word they lifted up their heads and hearkened unto that, and afterward (their sleep being therewith broken) heard him tell on of heaven again.  In what wise that good father rebuked then their untoward minds—­so dull to the thing that all our life we labour for, and so quick and eager toward other trifles—­I neither bear in mind nor shall here need to rehearse.  But thus much of that matter sufficeth for our purpose, that whereas you demand of me whether in tribulation men may not sometimes refresh themselves with worldly mirth and recreation, I can only say that he who cannot long endure to hold up his head and hear talking of heaven unless he be now and then between refreshed (as though heaven were heaviness!) with a merry foolish tale, there is none other remedy but you must let him have it.  Better would I wish it, but I cannot help it.