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that he made the beginning of his nobility from his own blood born from the dregs of the people: which, just as it grew little by little in time, so in a short time it grew old. But I advise him to be quiet: for if he continues to say what he wants to me, he will hear things he does not want. Let him revolve the multiple thoughts in his breast, which is poorly conscious of itself, primarily his brother held among the Carthusians, his deceased sister, another recently married, then the remaining three nuns. Finally, his deceased wife: likewise his stepson and stepdaughter. His parasite, little Erasmus original: "Erasmiolum" — likely a derogatory nickname for a companion of the subject, is troubled because he is nowhere praised magnificently in my description of Burgundy, although he is never criticized. What if I had written that the priest is wonderfully sober, that he has no business with cards and gambling, none with harlots, that he is never seen in the forum nor in the tavern, but is either in the temple praying and singing, or in his study reading: that only one thing is to be feared in him, lest in his solitude and excessive study he should take little care of his health? Would not a prudent reader have immediately smelled the preposterous praises and laughed at the irony? Indeed, the lykolapis wolf-sneak and Paulinus Rapicius the stranger are preluding to a tragedy; they think I do not know what they have vomited against me among many. Eudoxus once loved me beyond measure: but certain talkative and lying men tempered that love: nor did he cease