Bokelskere.no

-- Do not look upon me,
Lest with this piteous action you convert
My stern effects. Then what I have to do
Will want true colour: tears perchance for blood.

In the corrupted currents of this world
Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice,
And oft 'tis seen the wicked prize itself
Buys out the law.

This above all: to thine own self be true,
And it must follow, as the nigth the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.

Till then sit still my soul. Foul deeds will rise
Though all the earth o'erwhelm them to men's eyes.