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Strana 469 - Strength should be lord of imbecility, And the rude son should strike his father dead ; Force should be right ; or rather, right and wrong (Between whose endless jar justice resides) Should lose their names, and so should justice too. Then...
Strana 92 - O Cromwell, Cromwell, Had I but served my God with half the zeal I served my king, he would not in mine age Have left me naked to mine enemies.
Strana 296 - God ! methinks it were a happy life, To be no better than a homely swain; To sit upon a hill, as I do now, To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, Thereby to see the minutes how they run: How many make the hour full complete; How many hours bring about the day ; How many days will finish up the year; How many years a mortal man may live.
Strana 425 - Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale Her infinite variety : other women cloy The appetites they feed, but she makes hungry, Where most she satisfies ; for vilest things Become themselves in her, that the holy priests Bless her when she is riggish.
Strana 431 - O, mickle is the powerful grace that lies In herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities: For nought so vile that on the earth doth live But to the earth some special good doth give...
Strana 186 - Neither a borrower nor a lender be; For loan oft loses both itself and friend; And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry. This above all, — to thine own self be true ; And it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man.
Strana 102 - 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; All several sins, all us'd in each degree, Throng to the bar, crying all, 'Guilty, guilty!
Strana 209 - Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, This many summers in a sea of glory ; But far beyond my depth ; my high-blown pride At length broke under me ; and now has left me, Weary, and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me.
Strana 461 - For nought so vile that on the earth doth live But to the earth some special good doth give, Nor aught so good but strain'd from that fair use Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse: Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied; And vice sometimes by action dignified.