Conscience is but a word that cowards use, Devised at first to keep the strong in awe.
Am I your self But as it were in sort or limitation, To keep with you at meals, comfort your bed, And talk to you sometimes?
In respect that it is solitary, I like it very well; but in respect that it is private, it is a very vile life.
Thou rascal beadle, hold thy bloody hand! Why dost thou lash that whore? Strip thine own back; Thou hotly lusts to use her in that kind For which thou whipp'st her. The usurer hangs the cozener. Through tattered clothes small vices do appear; Robes and furred gowns hide all. Plate sin with gold, And the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks; Arm it in rags, a pygmy's straw does pierce it. None does offend, none, I say, none. I'll able 'em. Take that of me, my friend, who have the power To seal th' accuser's lips. Get thee glass eyes, And like a scurvy politician seem To see the things thou dost not.
A stirring dwarf we do allowance give Before a sleeping giant.
I see this is the time that the unjust man doth thrive.
Had it pleased heaven To try me with affliction, had they rained All kind of sores and shames on my bare head, Steeped me in poverty to the very lips, Given to captivity me and my utmost hopes, I should have found in some place of my soul A drop of patience.
Falstaff sweats to death, And lards the lean earth as he walks along.
It is my lady, O, it is my love. O that she knew she were!
Soothsayer. Beware the Ides of March. Caesar. He is a dreamer. Let us leave him. Pass.