Magic of bounty! all these spirits thy power Hath conjur'd to attend! I know the merchant.

Other incident throesThat nature's fragile vessel doth sustainIn life's uncertain voyage.

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 surge resolves The moon into salt tears; the earth's a thief, That feeds and breeds by a composture stol'n From general excrement: each thing's a thief: The laws, your curb and whip, in their rough power Have uncheck'd theft.

If thou wert the lion, the fox would beguile thee; if thou wert the lamb, the fox would eat thee; if thou wert the fox, the lion would suspect thee, when, peradventure, thou wert accused by the ass; if thou wert the ass, thy dulness would torment thee, and still thou livedst but as a breakfast to the wolf; if thou wert the wolf, thy greediness would afflict thee, and oft thou shouldst hazard thy life for thy dinner; wert thou the unicorn, pride and wrath would confound thee, and make thine own self the conquest of thy fury; wert thou a bear, thou wouldst be killed by the horse; wert thou a horse, thou wouldst be seized by the leopard; wert thou a leopard, thou wert german to the lion, and the spots of thy kindred were jurors on thy life; all thy safety were remotion, and thy defence, absence. What beast couldst thou be, that were not subject to a beast? and what beast art thou already, that seest not thy loss in transformation!

Not within the leaf of pity writ.

We have seen better days.

Timon will to the woods; where he shall find The unkindest beast more kinder than mankind. The gods confound — hear me, you good gods all — The Athenians both within and out that wall! And grant, as Timon grows, his hate may grow To the whole race of mankind, high and low! Amen.

Nothing emboldens sin so much as mercy.

Every man has his fault, and honesty is his.

'T is lack of kindly warmth they are not kind.

Every room Hath blaz'd with lights, and bray'd with minstrelsy.

Men shut their doors against a setting sun.

Immortal gods, I crave no pelf; I pray for no man but myself: Grant I may never prove so fond,To trust man on his oath or bond.

Here's that, which is too weak to be a sinner, —Honest water, which ne'er left man i' the mire.

I am not of that feather to shake off My friend when he most needs me.

No levelled maliceInfects one comma in the course I hold;But flies an eagle flight, bold, and forth on,Leaving no track behind.

The fire i th' flint Shows not till it be struck

When we for recompense have prais'd the vile, It stains the glory in that happy verse Which aptly sings the good.

You are an alchemist; make gold of that.