Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep;And in his simple show he harbours treason.
Unhand me, gentlemen, By heaven! I'll make a ghost of him that lets me.
Methinks it were an easy leap,To pluck bright honour from the pale-fac'd moon.
He that will have a cake out of the wheat must tarry the grinding.
Present fearsAre less than horrible imaginings.
The play's the thing,Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king.
Treason is a charge invented by winners as an excuse for hanging the losers.
For while the treason I detest,The traitor still I love.
Treason doth never prosper: what's the reason?Why, if it prosper, none dare call it treason.
Treason is not own'd when 'tis descried;Successful crimes alone are justified.
To say the truth, so Judas kiss'd his master,And cried "all hail!" whereas he meant all harm.
This principle is old, but true as fate,Kings may love treason, but the traitor hate.
Some guard these traitors to the block of death;Treason's true bed and yielder up of breath.
Et tu Brute! Then fall, Cæsar!
The man who pauses on the paths of treason,Halts on a quicksand, the first step engulfs him.
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