PEACE pratler, do not lowre: Not a fair look, but thou dost call it foul; Not a sweet dish, but thou dost call it sowre: Musick to thee doth howl. By listning to thy chatting fears I have both lost mine eyes and eares.
Pratler, no more, I say, My thoughts must work, but like a noiselesse sphere. Harmonious peace must rock them all the day: No room for pratlers there. If thou persistest, I will tell thee, That I have physick to expell thee.
"Conscience" The Temple George Herbert, The Works of George Herbert (London: George Routledge & Co., 1854), 106–107.
Photo of the cloak of conscience by Anna Chromy - Anna Chromy, CC BY 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=11495873
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