Let him pity and comfort those who are in distress and affliction.  I mean not that he should let every malefactor pass forth unpunished, and freely run out and rob at random.  But in his heart let him be sorry to see that of necessity, for fear of decaying the common weal, men are driven to put malefactors to pain.  And yet where he findeth good tokens and likelihood of amendment, there let him help all that he can that mercy may be had.  There shall never lack desperately disposed wretched enough besides, upon whom, as an example, justice can proceed.  Let him think, in his own heart, that every poor beggar is his fellow.

VINCENT:  That will be very hard, uncle, for an honourable man to do, when he beholdeth himself richly apparelled and the beggar rigged in his rags.

ANTHONY:  If there were here, cousin, two men who were both beggars, and afterward a great rich man would take one unto him, and tell him that for a little time he would have him in his house, and thereupon arrayed him in silk and gave him a great bag by his side, filled even with gold, but giving him this catch therewith:  that, within a little while, out he should go in his old rags again, and bear never a penny with him—­if this beggar met his fellow now, while his gay gown was on, might he not, for all his gay gear, take him for his fellow still?  And would he not be a very fool if, for a wealth of a few weeks, he would think himself far his better?

VINCENT:  Yes, uncle, if the difference in their state were no other.

ANTHONY:  Surely, cousin, methinketh that in this world, between the richest and the most poor, the difference is scant so much.  For let the highest look on the most base, and consider how they both came into this world.  And then let him consider further that, howsoever rich he be now, he shall yet, within a while—­ peradventure less than one week—­walk out again as poor as that beggar shall.  And then, by my troth, methinketh this rich man much more than mad if, for the wealth of a little while—­haply less than one week—­he reckon himself in earnest any better than the beggar’s fellow.

And less than thus can no man think, who hath any natural wit and well useth it.  But now a Christian man, cousin, who hath the light of faith, he cannot fail to think much further in this thing.  For he will think not only upon his bare coming hither and his bare going hence again, but also the dreadful judgment of God, and upon the fearful pains of hell and the inestimable joys of heaven.  And in the considering of these things, he will call to remembrance that peradventure when this beggar and he are both departed hence, the beggar may be suddenly set up in such royalty that well were he himself that ever was he born if he might be made his fellow.  And he who well bethinketh him, cousin, upon these things, I verily think that the arrow of pride flying forth in the day of worldly wealth shall never so wound his heart that ever it shall bear him up one foot.