Take not his name, who made thy mouth, in vain: It gets thee nothing, and hath no excuse. Lust and wine plead a pleasure, avarice gain: But the cheap swearer through his open sluce Lets his soul runne for nought, as little fearing: Were I an Epicure, I could bate swearing.
George Herbert, The Works of George Herbert (London: George Routledge & Co., 1854), 3.
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