1. Bernard, copies of your writings are noised abroad everywhere. And it is no surprise that they are placed so high on the pulpit of fame, for it is agreed that, whatever their quality, they meet the approval of the great ones of our time. People are surprised that despite being ignorant of the liberal arts you display such an abundance of eloquence, for ‘thy plants’ have now covered all the surface of the earth. But in reply to them it must be said (in God's words) that ‘great are the works of the Lord’, and that ‘this is the change of the right hand of the Most High’. 2. There is in fact no reason why they should be so amazed. The real surprise would be for you to be afflicted by the drying up of your eloquence: we have heard of you continually making up farcical ditties and witty measures almost from your earliest youth. This is not just guesswork on my part: witness to what I say is the foster mother of your speech, the homeland of ours. Is it not inscribed deep in your memory too that you always strove to surpass your brethren in verse competition and skill in acute invention? And when you found someone to come back at you with equal pertness you thought it a serious and highly distressing injury.

3. I could insert in this short work some details of your triflings, and with the support of trustworthy witnesses. But I am reluctant to mar my pages by inserting foul fictions. Still, what is known to everybody needs no witness. Anyway, that is why you often attribute that same practice of lying and trifling to the testament of God; and the ignorant affirm that what you spout so freely and eloquently is gravely and grandly spoken. 4. But necessary reason proves this not to be so. Frequently the truth is put over in plain terms and without charm, while falsehood is commended by agreeable and popular expression. As Augustine says, ‘simplicity of speech and eloquence are like rustic and sophisticated dishes, falsehood and truth like cheap and costly food.