Society and the World

Not all the water in the rough rude sea Can wash the balm from an anointed king.

The caterpillars of the commonwealth, Which I have sworn to weed and pluck away.

Evermore thanks, the exchequer of the poor.

That England, that was wont to conquer others, Hath made a shameful conquest of itself.

England, bound in with the triumphant sea, Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege Of watery Neptune.

Report of fashions in proud Italy, Whose manners still our tardy apish nation Limps after in base imitation.

Report of fashions in proud Italy, Whose manners still our tardy apish nation Limps after in base imitation.

Where’er I wander, boast of this I can, Though banish’d, yet a true-born Englishman.

Where’er I wander, boast of this I can, Though banish’d, yet a true-born Englishman.

All places that the eye of heaven visits Are to a wise man ports and happy havens. Teach thy necessity to reason thus; There is no virtue like necessity. Think not the king did banish thee, But thou the king.

Must I not serve a long apprenticehood To foreign passages, and in the end, Having my freedom, boast of nothing else But that I was a journeyman to grief?

We were not born to sue, but to command.

Come the three corners of the world in arms, And we shall shock them. Nought shall make us rue, If England to itself do rest but true.

This England never did, nor never shall, Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror.

Now my soul hath elbow-room.

Heaven take my soul, and England keep my bones!

How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds Makes ill deeds done!

There is no sure foundation set on blood, No certain life achiev’d by others’ death.

There is no sure foundation set on blood, No certain life achiev’d by others’ death.

And oftentimes excusing of a fault Doth make the fault the worse by the excuse.

To gild refined gold, to paint the lily, To throw a perfume on the violet, To smooth the ice, or add another hue Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish, Is wasteful and ridiculous excess.

Bell, book, and candle shall not drive me back.

That smooth-fac’d gentleman, tickling Commodity, Commodity, the bias of the world.

Bearing their birthrights proudly on their backs, To make a hazard of new fortunes here.