--To live
On means not yours--be brave in silks and laces,
Gallant in steeds; splendid in banquets; all
Not yours. Given, uninherited, unpaid for;
This is to be a trickster; and to filch
Men's art and labour, which to them is wealth,
Life, daily bread;--quitting all scores with "friend,
You're troublesome!" Why this, forgive me,
Is what, when done with a less dainty grace,
Plain folks call "Theft."
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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.
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.
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.
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.
The robbed that smiles steals something from the thief,
He robs himself that spends a bootless grief.
The robbed that smiles steals something from the thief,
He robs himself that spends a bootless grief.
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--
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 plague upon it when thieves cannot be true one to another!
A plague upon it when thieves cannot be true one to another!
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.
