them all very much. If thou didst not love them, then thou hadst not dreaded that thou wouldst lose them.
A. I admit what thou sayest to me.
R. Therefore methinks that I see thee very sad and greatly cast down in thy mind, because thou hast not such health as thou hadst; nor hast thou all thy friends with thee so agreeable and harmonious as thou wouldst. Nor doth it seem to me any wonder that thou art sad for that reason.
A. Thou understandest it rightly; I can not gainsay that.
R. If then it ever happen that thou shalt find thyself full whole and full strong, and hast all thy friends with thee, both in mind and in body, and in that same work and in that same will which pleaseth thee best to do, wilt thou then be happy at all?
A. Yea, verily; if it should now suddenly happen, I do not know how on earth I would begin.
R. Hast thou not then still some trouble, such as immoderate sorrow, either of mind or of body—seeing now thou hast those two things? Wert thou, therefore, foolish in heart, when thou didst wish that thou shouldst see with such eyes the high and everlasting Sun?
A. Now thou hast overcome me withal, so that I by no means know how much of health I have, nor how much of sickness.
R. That is no wonder. No man hath such sound eyes that he can look any length of time toward the sun which we here see, much less if he have weak eyes. But those that have weak eyes can be more at ease in the darkness than in the light. Methinks, though, that it seemeth to thee that thou hast sound eyes. Thou thinkest of the health of thy soul's eyes, but thou dost not think of the great light which thou wishest to see. Be not wroth with me, albeit I question thee and examine thee, for I needs must do that. Methinks thou dost not understand thyself.
