Is there, Lord, any of soul so great, and cleaving to Thee with
so intense affection (for a sort of stupidity will in a way do it);
but is there any one who, from cleaving devoutly to Thee, is endued
with so great a spirit, that he can think as lightly of the racks
and hooks and other torments (against which, throughout all lands,
men call on Thee with extreme dread), mocking at those by whom they
are feared most bitterly, as our parents mocked the torments which
we suffered in boyhood from our masters? For we feared not our torments
less; nor prayed we less to Thee to escape them. And yet we sinned,
in writing or reading or studying less than was exacted of us. For
we wanted not, O Lord, memory or capacity, whereof Thy will gave enough
for our age; but our sole delight was play; and for this we were punished
by those who yet themselves were doing the like. But elder folks'
idleness is called "business"; that of boys, being really the same,
is punished by those elders; and none commiserates either boys or
men. For will any of sound discretion approve of my being beaten as
a boy, because, by playing a ball, I made less progress in studies
which I was to learn, only that, as a man, I might play more unbeseemingly?
and what else did he who beat me? who, if worsted in some trifling
discussion with his fellow-tutor, was more embittered and jealous
than I when beaten at ball by a play-fellow?