So then
he labours without thanks, talks without credit, lives without love,
dies without tears, without pity, save that some say it was pity he died
no sooner.
OF THE SUPERSTITIOUS.
Superstition is godless religion, devout impiety. The superstitious is
fond in observation, servile in fear; he worships God but as he lists;
he gives God what He asks not more than He asks, and all but what he
should give; and makes more sins than the Ten Commandments. This man
dares not stir forth till his breast be crossed and his face sprinkled:
if but an hare cross him the way, he returns; or if his journey began
unawares on the dismal day, or if he stumble at the threshold. If he see
a snake unkilled, he fears a mischief; if the salt fall towards him, he
looks pale and red, and is not quiet till one of the waiters have poured
wine on his lap; and when he sneezeth, thinks them not his friends that
uncover not. In the morning he listens whether the crow crieth even or
odd, and by that token presages of the weather. If he hear but a raven
croak from the next roof he makes his will, or if a bittern fly over his
head by night; but if his troubled fancy shall second his thoughts with
the dream of a fair garden, or green rushes, or the salutation of a dead
friend, he takes leave of the world and says he cannot live. He will
never set to sea but on a Sunday, neither ever goes without an _Erra
Pater_ in his pocket. Saint Paul's Day and Saint Swithin's with the
Twelve are his oracles, which he dares believe against the almanack.
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