Thy Words, I Grant Are Bigger, For

Such As We Are Made Of, Such We Be.

Who Is So Firm That Can't Be Seduced?

My Soul Is In The Sky.

No Might Nor Greatness In Mortality Can Censure 'scape; Back- Wounding Calumny The Whitest Virtue Strikes. What King So Strong Can Tie The Gall Up In The Slanderous Tongue?

The Gods Are Just, And Of Our Pleasant Vices Make Instruments To Plague Us.