Like bright metal on a sullen ground, My reformation, glitt'ring o'er my fault, Shall show more goodly and attract more eyes Than that which hath no foil to set it off.
You shall be as a father to my youth, My voice shall sound as you do prompt mine ear, And I will stoop and humble my intents To your well-practiced wise directions.
'Tis much when sceptres are in children's hands, But more when envy breeds unkind division: There comes the ruin, there begins confusion.
O, he's drunk, Sir Toby, an hour agone; his eyes were set at eight i' th' morning.
Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin As self-neglecting.
Fair thoughts and happy hours attend on you!
Withered murder, Alarumed by his sentinel, the wolf, Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace, With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design Moves like a ghost.
Be sure of it. Give me the ocular proof.
Stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires! The eye wink at the hand; yet let that be Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see.
Since the quarrel Will bear no color for the thing he is, Fashion it thus: that what he is, augmented, Would run to these and these extremities.