her altogether. But of a truth they will gather much folly by their presumption and vainglory unless every one of them shall turn again to her healing care.
Here Philosophy began to take pity on the Mind's feebleness, and fell to singing, and these were her words: 'Ah, how deep the pit in which the mind labours when it is assailed by the hardships of this life! If it forget its own light (that is, joy eternal), and press on to unfamiliar darkness (that is, the cares of this world), as this Mind now doth, naught else shall it know but sorrow.'
After that Philosophy, that is to say, the Spirit of Reason, had sung this song, she began again to speak, and she said to the Mind, 'I see thou hast need of comfort rather than of woful words. Wherefore, if only thou wilt show shame for thine error, I will soon begin to raise thee up and carry thee with me to heaven.'
'What,' answered the sorrow-stricken Mind, 'and is this the boon and the reward thou didst always promise them that would obey thee? Is this wise Plato's saw thou toldst me of long ago, that without righteousness no power was rightful? Dost thou mark how the righteous are hated and oppressed because they are resolved to do thy will, and how the unrighteous are exalted by reason of their misdeeds and their self-esteem? Even that they may do their wicked will the sooner, they are furthered with gifts and possessions. Therefore I will now call earnestly upon God.'
Then he began to sing, and these were the words of his song:
IV
