Envy

Envy will merit as its shade pursue,
But like a shadow, proves the substance true.

Envy will merit as its shade pursue,
But like a shadow, proves the substance true.

Envy, to which th' ignoble mind's a slave,
Is emulation in the learn'd or brave.

Envy, to which th' ignoble mind's a slave,
Is emulation in the learn'd or brave.

Envy, my son, wears herself away, and droops like a lamb under
the influence of the evil eye.
read more

Envy, my son, wears herself away, and droops like a lamb under
the influence of the evil eye.
[Lat., L'invidia, figliuol mio, se stessa macera,
E si dilegua come agnel per fascino.]

It is the practice of the multitude to bark at eminent men, as
little dogs do at strangers.

It is the practice of the multitude to bark at eminent men, as
little dogs do at strangers.

The general's disdained
By him one step below, he by the next,
The next by him beneath; read more

The general's disdained
By him one step below, he by the next,
The next by him beneath; so every step,
Exampled by the first pace that is sick
Of his superior, grows to an envious fever
Of pale and bloodless emulation:
And 'tis this fever that keeps Troy on foot,
Not her own sinews.

Such men as he be never at heart's ease
Whiles they behold a greater than themselves,
And read more

Such men as he be never at heart's ease
Whiles they behold a greater than themselves,
And therefore are they very dangerous.

My mind gave me,
In seeking tales and informations
Against this man, whose honesty the devil
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My mind gave me,
In seeking tales and informations
Against this man, whose honesty the devil
And his disciples only envy at,
Ye blew the fire that burns ye: now have at ye!

We make ourselves fools to disport ourselves
And spend our flatteries to drink those men
Upon whose read more

We make ourselves fools to disport ourselves
And spend our flatteries to drink those men
Upon whose age we void it up again
With poisonous spite and envy.

Not on thy sole, but on thy soul, harsh Jew,
Thou mak'st thy knife keen; but no metal can--
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Not on thy sole, but on thy soul, harsh Jew,
Thou mak'st thy knife keen; but no metal can--
No, not the hangman's axe--bear half the keenness
Of thy sharp envy.

Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
Who is already sick and pale with grief
That read more

Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
Who is already sick and pale with grief
That thou her maid art far more fair than she.
Be not her maid, since she is envious.
Her vestal livery is but sick and green,
And none but fools do wear it. Cast it off.