through which we were fain to pass; multiplying toil and grief upon
the sons of Adam. But, Lord, we found that men called upon Thee, and
we learnt from them to think of Thee (according to our powers) as of
some great One, who, though hidden from our senses, couldest hear
and help us. For so I began, as a boy, to pray to Thee, my aid and
refuge; and broke the fetters of my tongue to call on Thee, praying
Thee, though small, yet with no small earnestness, that I might not be
beaten at school. And when Thou heardest me not (not thereby giving me
over to folly), my elders, yea my very parents, who yet wished me no
ill, mocked my stripes, my then great and grievous ill.

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