Is there not some chosen curse,
Some hidden thunder in the stores of heaven,
Red with uncommon read more

Is there not some chosen curse,
Some hidden thunder in the stores of heaven,
Red with uncommon wrath, to blast the man
Who owes his greatness to his country's ruin?

And then I stole all courtesy from heaven,
And dressed myself in such humility
That I did read more

And then I stole all courtesy from heaven,
And dressed myself in such humility
That I did pluck allegiance from men's hearts,
Loud shouts and salutations from their mouths
Even in the presence of the crowned king.

Treason doth never prosper: what's the reason?
Why if it prosper, none dare call it treason.

Treason doth never prosper: what's the reason?
Why if it prosper, none dare call it treason.

Thou know'st, great son,
The end of war's uncertain, but this certain,
That, if thou conquer Rome, read more

Thou know'st, great son,
The end of war's uncertain, but this certain,
That, if thou conquer Rome, the benefit
Which thou shalt thereby reap is such a name
Whose repetition will be dogged with curses,
Whose chronicle thus writ: 'The man was noble,
But with his last attempt he wiped it out,
Destroyed his country; and his name remains
To th' ensuing age abhorred,' Speak to me son.
Thou hast affected the fine strains of honor,
To imitate the graces of the gods;
To tear with thunder the wide cheeks o' th' air,
And yet to change thy sulphur with a bolt
That should rive an oak.

If this be treason, make the most of it!

If this be treason, make the most of it!

Cynicism is intellectual treason.

Cynicism is intellectual treason.

To break training without permission is an act of treason.

To break training without permission is an act of treason.

Thou art a traitor.
Off with his head! Now by Saint Paul I swear
I will not read more

Thou art a traitor.
Off with his head! Now by Saint Paul I swear
I will not dine until I see the same.

With evil omens from the harbour sails
The ill-fated ship that worthless Arnold bears;
God of the read more

With evil omens from the harbour sails
The ill-fated ship that worthless Arnold bears;
God of the southern winds, call up thy gales,
And whistle in rude fury round his ears.