So Full Of Shapes Is Fancy

For In The Fatness Of These Pursy Times Virtue Itself Of Vice Must Pardon Beg.

My Cake Is Dough, But I'll In Among The Rest, Out Of Hope Of All But My Share Of The Feast.

He That Is Proud Eats Up Himself: Pride Is His Own Glass, His Own Trumpet, His Own Chronicle.

A True Repentance Shuns The Evil Itself, More Than The External Suffering Or The Shame.

I'll Look To Like; If Looking, Liking Move.