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			 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. 
		
 
	
			 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. 
		
 
	
			 Never thrust your own sickle into another's corn.  
	 Never thrust your own sickle into another's corn. 
		
 
	
			 'Tis bad enough in man or woman
 To steal a goose from off a common;
  But surely read more 
	 'Tis bad enough in man or woman
 To steal a goose from off a common;
  But surely he's without excuse
   Who steals a common from the goose. 
		
 
	
			 Who steals a bugle-horn, a ring, a steed,
 Or such like worthless thing, has some discretion;
  'Tis read more 
	 Who steals a bugle-horn, a ring, a steed,
 Or such like worthless thing, has some discretion;
  'Tis petty larceny: not such his deed
   Who robs us of our fame, our best possession. 
		
 
	
			 To keep my hands from picking and stealing.  
	 To keep my hands from picking and stealing. 
		
 
	
			 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. 
		
 
	
			 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-- 
		
 
	
			 No Indian prince has to his palace
 More followers than a thief to the gallows.  
	 No Indian prince has to his palace
 More followers than a thief to the gallows.