So he opened his lips and let out a deep guffaw of mockery.
"We shall have you turning monk," said he, "a candidate for canonization going barefoot, with flagellated back and shaven head.

No more wine, no more dice, no more wenches, no more--" "Peace!" snapped the other.
"Say 'Pax,"' suggested Garnache, "'Pax tecum,' or `vobiscum.' It is thus you will be saying it later." "If my conscience pricks me, is it aught to you?
Have you no conscience of your own ?" "None.

Men wax lean on it in this vale of tears.

It is a thing invented by the great to enable them to pursue the grinding and oppression of the small.

If your master pays you ill for the dirty work you do for him and another comes along to offer you some rich reward for an omission in that same service, you are warned that if you let yourself be tempted, your conscience will plague you afterwards.