No wise man ever thought that a traitor should be trusted.
[Lat., Nemo unquam sapiens proditori credendum putavit.]

No wise man ever thought that a traitor should be trusted.
[Lat., Nemo unquam sapiens proditori credendum putavit.]

Is there not some chosen curse, some hidden thunder in the stores of heaven, red with uncommon wrath, to blast 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!

Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep,
And in his simple show he harbors treason.

Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep,
And in his simple show he harbors treason.

If this be treason, make the most of it!

If this be treason, make the most of it!

We are a rebellious nation. Our whole history is treason; our blood was attained before we were born; our creeds read more

We are a rebellious nation. Our whole history is treason; our blood was attained before we were born; our creeds were infidelity to the mother church; our constitution treason to our fatherland.

Some guard these traitors to the block of death,
Treason's true bed and yielder up of breath.

Some guard these traitors to the block of death,
Treason's true bed and yielder up of breath.

Men will confess to treason, murder, arson, false teeth, or a wig. How many of them will own up to read more

Men will confess to treason, murder, arson, false teeth, or a wig. How many of them will own up to a lack of humor?

Though those that are betrayed
Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor
Stands in worse case read more

Though those that are betrayed
Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor
Stands in worse case of woe.

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.