At this hourLie at my mercy all mine enemies.
Don’t waste your love on somebody, who doesn’t value it.
Betänk det här: all ungdom för sig själv en fara är.
It would cost you a groaning to take off my edge.
Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile;Filths savour but themselves…
O ill-starred wench! Pale as your smock!
This above all: To your own self, be true.
Exceeds man’s might: that dwells with the gods above.
[Thou] mad mustachio purple-hued maltworms!
They do not love, that do not show their love.
The grief that does not speak whispers the o’erfraught heart and bids it break.
He is as full of valor as of kindness. Princely in both.
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