Those my mother full well knew; and desired to commit to them the clay of which I was afterwards to be new moulded, rather than the image itself.1 BUT in this my childhood (wherein was less fear of me than in my youth) I loved not my book, and I hated to be forced to it: yet was I held to it notwithstanding: wherein it was very well for me, but I did not well for myself: for I would never have taken my learning, had I not been constrained
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