PROLOGUE I AM thinking, Most Holy Father, Eugenius, of writing something which may edify, delight, or console you. But when I would fain begin I experience a strange hesitation, and my words falter, for your Majesty and the love I have for you, like rival commanders, issue conflicting orders. The one bids me advance, the other holds me in check. Your condescension reconciles their differences, inasmuch as though you might more fitly enjoin a task, you beg of me a favour. If then your Majesty unbends,
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