The lily I condemned for thy hand, And buds of marjoram had stol'n thy hair: The roses fearfully on thorns did stand, One blushing shame, another white despair; A third, nor red nor white, had stol'n of both And to his robbery had annex'd thy breath; But, for his theft, in pride of all his growth A vengeful canker eat him up to death. More flowers I noted, yet I none could see But sweet or colour it had stol'n from thee.
William ShakespeareTime shall unfold what plaited cunning hides: Who cover faults, at last shame them derides.
William ShakespeareCorruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues.
William Shakespeare