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More from William Shakespeare

Virtue is chok’d with foul ambition.

Don Pedro: Your silence most offends me, and to be merry best becomes you; for, out of question, you were born in a merry hour.
Beatrice: No, sure, my lord, my mother cried; but then there was a star danced, and under that was I born.

So are you to my thoughts as food to life
Or as sweet seasoned showers are to the ground
And for the peace of you I hold such strife
As twix’t a miser and his wealth is foun
`Now proud as an enjoyer, and ano
`Doubting the filching age will his treasure
Now counting best to be with you alone
Then bettered that the world may see my pleasure
Sometime all full with feasting on your sight
And by and by clean starved for a look
Possessing or pursuing no delight
Save what is had or must from you be took
Thus do I pine and surfeit day by day
Or gluttoning on all, or all away

Young in limbs, in judgement old.

Act II, sc. 7.

In Belmont is a lady richly left
And she is fair.

Bassanio: Act 1, Scene 1