In religion, What damned error but some sober brow Will bless it, and approve it with a text, Hiding the grossness with fair ornament?
Thrust your head into the public street, to gaze on Christian fools with varnish'd faces.
His worst fault is, he's given to prayer; he is something peevish that way.
I always thought it was both impious and unnatural that such immanity and bloody strife should reign among professors of one faith.
Methinks sometimes I have no more wit than a Christian.
Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie, Which we ascribe to Heaven.
It is a heretic that makes the fire, Not she which burns in it.
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