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.

Kill a man's family, and he may brook it,
But keep your hands out of his breeches' pocket.

Kill a man's family, and he may brook it,
But keep your hands out of his breeches' pocket.

Who steals my purse steals trash; 'tis something, nothing.
'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands;
read more

Who steals my purse steals trash; 'tis something, nothing.
'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands;
But he that filches from me my good name
Robs me of that which not enriches him
And makes me poor indeed.

O villain, thou hast stol'n both mine office and my name!
The one ne'er got me credit, the other read more

O villain, thou hast stol'n both mine office and my name!
The one ne'er got me credit, the other mickle blame.

A murderer and a villain,
A slave that is not twentieth part the tithe
Of your precedent read more

A murderer and a villain,
A slave that is not twentieth part the tithe
Of your precedent lord, a vice of kings,
A cutpurse of the empire and the rule,
That from a shelf the precious diadem stole
And put it in his pocket--

He that is robbed, not wanting what is stol'n,
Let him not know't, and he's not robbed at all.

He that is robbed, not wanting what is stol'n,
Let him not know't, and he's not robbed at all.

Never thrust your own sickle into another's corn.

Never thrust your own sickle into another's corn.

Do villainy, do, since you protest to do't,
Like workmen. I'll example you with thievery:
The sun's read more

Do villainy, do, since you protest to do't,
Like workmen. I'll example you with thievery:
The sun's a thief, and with his great attraction
Robs the vast sea; the moon's an arrant thief,
And her pale fire she snatches from the sun;
The sea's a thief, whose liquid surges resolves
The moon into salt tears; the earth's a thief,
That feeds and breeds by a composture stol'n
From gen'ral excrement.

Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself
Are much condemned to have an itching palm,
To sell read more

Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself
Are much condemned to have an itching palm,
To sell and mart your offices for gold
To undeservers.