it is not enough to speak, but to speak truee
I would fain die a dry death.
It easeth some, though none it ever cured, to think their dolour others have endured.
Through tattered clothes great vices do appear; Robes and furred gowns hide all. Plate sin with gold and the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks. Arm it in rags, a pigmy's straw does pierce it.
The time is out of joint.
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