False Face Must Hide What The False

The Gaudy, Blabbing, And Remorseful Day Is Crept Into The Bosom Of The Sea.

The Hand That Hath Made You Fair Hath Made You Good. Pity Is The Virtue Of The Law, And None But Tyrants Use It Cruelly.

Foul Whisp'rings Are Abroad.

The Web Of Our Life Is Of A Mingled Yarn, Good And Ill Together: Our Virtues Would Be Proud If Our Faults Whipped Them Not; And Our Crimes Would Despair If They Were Not Cherished By Our Own Virtues.

You Have Lost No Reputation At All, Unless You Repute Yourself Such A Loser.