William Shakespeare

Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot
That it doth singe yourself.

Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot
That it doth singe yourself.

Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world
Like a Colossus, and we petty men
Walk under read more

Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world
Like a Colossus, and we petty men
Walk under his huge legs and peep about
To find ourselves dishonorable graves.

For the heavens, he shows me where the bachelors sit, and there
live we as merry as the day read more

For the heavens, he shows me where the bachelors sit, and there
live we as merry as the day is long.

Yet thanks I must you con
That you are thieves professed, that you work not
In holier read more

Yet thanks I must you con
That you are thieves professed, that you work not
In holier shapes; for there is boundless theft
In limited professions.

There is no vice so simple, but assumes
Some mark of virtue on his outward parts.

There is no vice so simple, but assumes
Some mark of virtue on his outward parts.