He must also consider that a great part of this temptation is in effect but the fear of his own fancy, the dread that he hath lest he shall once be driven to it.  For he may be sure that (unless he himself will, of his own folly) all the devils in hell can never drive him to it, but his own foolish imagination may.  For it fareth in his temptation like a man going over a high bridge who waxeth so afraid, through his own fancy, that he falleth down indeed, when he would otherwise be able enough to pass over without any danger.  For a man upon such a bridge, if folk call upon him, “You fall, you fall!” may fall with the fancy that he taketh thereof; although, if folk looked merrily upon him and said, “There is no danger therein,” he would pass over the bridge well enough—­and he would not hesitate to run upon it, if it were but a foot from the ground.  So, in this temptation, the devil findeth the man of his own foolish fancy afraid and then crieth in the ear of his heart, “Thou fallest, thou fallest!” and maketh the foolish man afraid that he should, at every foot, fall indeed.  And the devil so wearieth him with that continual fear, if he give the ear of his heart to him, that at last he withdraweth his mind from due remembrance of God, and then driveth him to that deadly mischief indeed.  Therefore, like as, against the vice of the flesh, the victory standeth not all in the fight, but sometimes also in the flight (saving that it is indeed a part of a wise warrior’s fight to flee from his enemies’ traps), so must a man in this temptation too, not only resist it always with reasoning against it, but sometimes set it clear at right naught and cast it off when it cometh and not once regard it so much as to vouchsafe to think thereon.

Some folk have been clearly rid of such pestilent fancies with very full contempt of them, making a cross upon their hearts and bidding the devil avaunt.  And sometimes they laugh him to scorn too, and then turn their mind unto some other matter.  And when the devil hath seen that they have set so little by him, after certain essays, made in such times as he thought most fitting, he hath given that temptation quite over.  And this he doth not only because the proud spirit cannot endure to be mocked, but also lest, with much tempting the man to the sin to which he could not in conclusion bring him, he should much increase his merit.

The final fight is by invocation of help unto God, both praying for himself and desiring others also to pray for him—­both poor folk for his alms and other good folk of their charity, especially good priests in that holy sacred service of the Mass.  And not only them but also his own good angel and other holy saints such as his devotion specially doth stand unto.  Or, if he be learned, let him use then the litany, with the holy suffrages that follow, which is a prayer in the church of marvellous old antiquity.  For it was not made first, as some believe, by that holy man St. Gregory (which opinion arose from the fact that, in the time of a great pestilence in Rome, he caused the whole city to go in solemn procession with it), but it was in use in the church many years before St. Gregory’s days, as well appeareth by the books of other holy doctors and saints, who were dead hundreds of years before St. Gregory was born.