I Understand A Fury In

The Proverb Is Something Musty.

Light Vanity, Insatiate Cormorant, Consuming Means, Soon Preys Upon Itself.

My Conscience Hath A Thousand Several Tongues, And Every Tongue Brings In A Several Tale, And Every Tale Condemns Me For A Villain. Perjury, Perjury, In The High'st Degree; Murder, Stern Murder In The Dir'st Degree, Throng To The Bar, Crying All, 'guilty!, Guilty!

Lord, Lord, How Subject We Old Men Are To This Vice Of Lying!

Contention, Like A Horse, Full Of High Feeding, Madly Hath Broke Loose, And Bears Down All Before Him.