Quattuor Colloquiola - Colloquium Secundum

O my Peter, what is it which vexeth thee in thy mind? For thou standest doubtful of mind, as forgetful both of the time and also of thy own self. Thou wert wont to be greedy of play — perhaps the bow and the arrows which thou hadst broken of late do affect thee with grief.

Nothing less, Andrew. I being now filled with the desire of play am most desirous of good learning. Nor am I so void of wit that the loss of my playing weapons may be grievous to me.

It is better to be wise late than never. Why therefore dost thou go with so sad a countenance?

This care doth grip me and doth prick me sharply — because I have heard that my parents are angry with me, and that I must be called away from school to merchandize very speedily. Of which things whether I less wish, I cannot easily judge.

Whether art thou so void of advice? So amazed in mind, and so greatly besotted because thou hast heard these things? Nothing is more lying, more false than report. And thou art worthy a most sharp reproof, and thou shewest thyself to be of base courage, who art made timid by a sound of words and heartless by so vain a blast of wind as threats.

Surely I fear thee of too bold a courage, whom I have marked as frightened by no fear.

Be thou of good courage. Time a devourer of things, and thy parents are not of so hard a disposition, but that they will quickly be forgetful of a fault so light, or else the entreating of pardon of the fault will be most easy with them for thee.

O most sweet to me of all my schoolfellows! No man is the second to thee in love — thou art sweet and pleasant to all thy friends, profitable to every one of thy fellows. Who is like thee in wit? Who is equal to thee in good will?

Yea rather thou art worthy of this praise, Peter. Thou hast been most often to me in good will a brother, a teacher, a heart to children. There is not any of my friends dearer to me than thee, either in good will or in love. But lo — thy brother is here, thy most sweet image.

Come hither, Henry — whom dost thou seek?

Even thyself, mine own brother, most nearly joined to me in nature and in heart.

Thou dost make this guess out of thine own mind, of the love of me alone towards thee.

Nay rather the mutual love of us both is known sufficiently to every one of our brethren.

But who hath sent thee hither?

My Father. For of two books which the bookseller hath to be sold of the same matter, he will that thou choose the better.

But whose book is this?

Mine, or else my father's, who hath paid the price of it.

For how much was it sold?

For three shillings.

Who sold it to thee?

The Merchant, our neighbour.

This book is thick — four inches I believe — broad two hands, long a whole foot.

But that other is thicker by two inches, longer by a hand breadth.

Perhaps it will be dearer by so much, by how much it is greater. But that thing is a care to neither of you, who have a Father exceeding rich in lands and most wealthy in money.

Whether dost thou thyself rather wish to be rich with riches, or rich in learning?

I do think both riches and also learning to be profitable to men — those that a man may maintain himself and his life, these that he may furnish his mind and frame his manners to virtue.

Thou judgest rightly, unless I be deceived. But we must make haste from hence. Farewell to us both, O Andrew, to be loved very much.

Fare you well, to be loved much of me also, O very good youths.