Given A Choice Between A Folly And

God Has Administered To Us Of The Present Age, A Bitter Draught And A Harsh Physician, On Account Of Our Abounding Infirmities.

Reflection Is A Flower Of The Mind, Giving Out Wholesome Fragrance; But Revelry Is The Same Flower, When Rank And Running To Seed.

They Take Unbelievable Pleasure In The Hideous Blast Of The Hunting Horn And Baying Of The Hounds. Dogs Dung Smells Sweet As Cinnamon To Them.

For Them It's Out-of-date And Outmoded To Perform Miracles; Teaching The People Is Too Like Hard Work, Interpreting The Holy Scriptures Is For Schoolmen And Praying Is A Waste Of Time; To Shed Tears Is Weak And Womanish, To Be Needy Is Degrading; To Suffer Defeat Is A Disgrace And Hardly Fitting For One Who Scarcely Permits The Greatest Of Kings To Kiss The Toes Of His Sacred Feet; And Finally, Death Is An Unattractive Prospect, And Dying On A Cross Would Be An Ignominious End.

Out Of All Those Centuries The Greeks Can Count Seven Sages At The Most, And If Anyone Looks At Them More Closely I Swear He'll Not Find So Much As A Half-wise Man Or Even A Third Of A Wise Man Among Them.