Background Image

...

Great Men, Till They Have Gained Their Ends, Are Giants In Their Promises, But, Those Obtained, Weak Pigmies In Their Performance. And It Is A Maxim Allowed Among Them, So They May Deceive, They May Swear Anything; For The Queen Of Love, As They Hold Constantly, Does Never Punish, But Smile, At Lovers' Perjuries.

-Philip Massinger

...

Please Wait....
Translating....

Great Men, Till They

Philip Massinger

...

Great Men, Till They Have Gained Their Ends, Are Giants In Their Promises, But, Those Obtained, Weak Pigmies In Their Performance. And It Is A Maxim Allowed Among Them, So They May Deceive, They May Swear Anything; For The Queen Of Love, As They Hold Constantly, Does Never Punish, But Smile, At Lovers' Perjuries.

Views: 4

Topic

More From Philip Massinger

It Is True Fortitude To Stand Firm Against All Shocks Of Fate, When Cowards Faint And Die In Fear To Suffer More Calamity.

To Doubt Is Worse Than To Have Lost; And To Despair Is But To Antedate Those Miseries That Must Fall On Us.

Factions Among Yourselves; Preferring Such To Offices And Honors, As Ne'er Read The Elements Of Saving Policy; But Deeply Skilled In All The Principles That Usher To Destruction.

One Grain Of Incense With Devotion Offer'd 's Beyond All Perfumes Of Sabaean Spices.

Tis The Only Discipline We Are Born For; All Studies Else Are But As Circular Lines, And Death The Center Where They All Must Meet.

Petitions, Not Sweetened With Gold, Are But Unsavory And Oft Refused; Or, If Received, Are Pocketed, Not Read.

For Any Man To Match Above His Rank Is But To Sell His Liberty.

I Have Play'd The Fool, The Gross Fool, To Believe The Bosom Of A Friend Will Hold A Secret Mine Own Could Not Contain.

They Are Only Safe That Know To Soothe The Prince's Appetite, And Serve His Lusts.

We Have Not An Hour Of Life In Which Our Pleasures Relish Not Some Pain, Our Sours, Some Sweetness.

Greatness, With Private Men Esteem'd A Blessing, Is To Me A Curse; And We, Whom, For Our High Births, They Conclude The Happy Freemen, Are The Only Slaves. Happy The Golden Mean!

Honour Is Virtue's Allowed Ascent: Honour That Clasps All Perfect Justice In Her Arms; That Craves No More Respect Than That She Gives; That Does Nothing But What She'll Suffer.

If You Like Not Hanging, Drown Yourself; Take Some Course For Your Reputation.

Giants In Their Promises, But Those Obtained, Weak Pigmies In Their Performance.

Nor Custom, Nor Example, Nor Cast Numbers Of Such As Do Offend, Make Less The Sin.

Oh That Thou Hadst Like Others Been All Words, And No Performance.

He That Would Govern Others, First Should Be The Master Of Himself.

Virtue, Thou In Rags, May Challenge More Than Vice Set Off With All The Trim Of Greatness.

Like A Rough Orator, That Brings More Truth Than Rhetoric, To Make Good His Accusation.

Black Detraction Will Find Faults Where They Are Not.

He That Doth Public Good For Multitudes, Finds Few Are Truly Grateful

Be Wise; Soar Not Too High To Fall; But Stoop To Rise.

Gold--the Picklock That Never Fails.

I Had Not To This Time Subsisted, But That I Was Supported By Your Frequent Courtesies And Favours.

Death Hath A Thousand Doors To Let Out Life.

True Dignity Is Never Gained By Place, And Never Lost When Honors Are Withdrawn.

Pleasures Of Worse Natures Are Gladly Entertained, And They That Shun Us Practice In Private Sports The Stews Would Blush At.

My Dancing Days Are Past.

From The King To The Beggar, By Gradation, All Are Servants; And You Must Grant, The Slavery Is Less To Study To Please One, Than Many.

As The Index Tells Us The Contents Of Stories And Directs To The Particular Chapter, Even So Does The Outward Habit And Superficial Order Of Garments (in Man Or Woman) Give Us A Taste Of The Spirit, And Demonstratively Point (as It Were A Manual Note From The Margin) All The Internal Quality Of The Soul; And There Cannot Be A More Evident, Palpable, Gross Manifestation Of Poor, Degenerate, Dunghilly Blood And Breeding Than A Rude, Unpolished, Disordered, And Slovenly Outside.

The Soul Is Strong That Trusts In Goodness.

Detraction's A Bold Monster, And Fears Not To Wound The Fame Of Princes, If It Find But Any Blemish In Their Lives To Work On.

Thou Art Figured Blind, And Yet We Borrow Our Best Sight From Thee.

Ambition, In A Private Man Is A Vice, Is In A Prince The Virtue.

Conscience And Wealth Are Not Always Neighbors.

This Is The Jew That Shakespeare Drew.

And, To All Married Men, Be This A Caution, Which They Should Duly Tender As Their Life, Neither To Doat Too Much, Nor Doubt A Wife.

The Sum Of All That Makes A Just Man Happy Consists In The Well Choosing Of His Wife: And There, Well To Discharge It, Does Require Equality Of Years, Of Birth, Of Fortune; For Beauty Being Poor, And Not Cried Up By Birth Or Wealth, Can Truly Mix With Neither. And Wealth, When There's Such Difference In Years, And Fair Descent, Must Make The Yoke Uneasy.

Patience, The Beggar's Virtue, Shall Find No Harbor Here.

Malice Scorned, Puts Out Itself; But Argued, Give A Kind Of Credit To A False Accusation.

A Willing Mind Makes A Hard Journey Easy.

Nay, Droop Not, Fellows; Innocence Should Be Bold.

Ill News Are Swallow-winged, But What Is Good Walks On Crutches.

Cheerful Looks Make Every Dish A Feast, And It Is That Which Crowns A Welcome.

The Good Needs Fear No Law, It Is His Safety And The Bad Man's Awe.

But Married Once, A Man Is Stak'd Or Pown'd, And Cannot Graze Beyond His Own Hedge.

A Diamond, Though Set In Horns, Is Still A Diamond, And Sparkles In Purest Gold.

Shall This Nectar Run Useless, Then, To Waste? Or ... These Lips, That Open Like The Morn, Breathing Perfumes, On Such As Dare Approach Them, Be Untouch'd? They Must--nay, 'tis In Vain To Make Resistance-- Be Often Kissed And Tasted.

Man Was Mark'd A Friend In His Creation To Himself, And May, With Fit Ambition, Conceive The Greatest Blessings, And The Highest Honors Appointed For Him, If He Can Achieve Them The Right And Noble Way.

The Over Curious Are Not Over Wise.

Though The Desire Of Fame Be The Last Weakness Wise Men Put Off.

0 Summer Friendship, Whose Flat-tering Leaves Shadowed Us In Our Prosperity, With The Least Gust, Drop Off In The Autumn Of Adversity.

How Sweetly Sounds The Voice Of A Good Woman! It Is So Seldom Heard That, When It Speaks,it Ravishes All Senses.

Before We End Our Pilgrimage, 'tis Fit That We Should Leave Corruption, And Foul Sin, Behind Us, But With Wash'd Feet And Hands, The Heathens Dar' Not Enter Their Profane Temples; And For Me To Hope My Passage To Eternity Can Be Made Easy, Till I Have Shook Off The Burthen Of My Sins In Free Confession, Aided With Sorrow, And Repentance For Them, Is Against Reason.

He That Knows No Guilt Can Know No Fear.

What A Seaof Melting Ice I Walk On!

Great Men, Till They Have Gained Their Ends, Are Giants In Their Promises, But, Those Obtained, Weak Pigmies In Their Performance. And It Is A Maxim Allowed Among Them, So They May Deceive, They May Swear Anything; For The Queen Of Love, As They Hold Constantly, Does Never Punish, But Smile, At Lovers' Perjuries.

Revenge, That Thirsty Dropsy Of Our Souls, Makes Us Covet That Which Hurts Us Most.

Virgin Me No Virgins! I Must Have You Lose That Name, Or You Lose Me.

Such As Ne'er Saw Swans May Think Crows Beautiful.

What Pity 'tis, One That Can Speak So Well, Should In His Actions Be So Ill!

I In My Own House Am An Emperor, And Will Defend What's Mine.

What Can Innocence Hope For, When Such As Sit Her Judges Are Corrupted!

You May Boldly Say, You Did Not Plough Or Trust The Barren And Ungrateful Sands With The Fruitful Grain Of Your Religious Counsels.

Without Good Company All Dainties Lose Their True Relish, And Like Painted Grapes, Are Only Seen, Not Tasted.

Quiet Night, That Brings Best To The Labourer, Is The Outlaw's Day, In Which He Rises Early To Do Wrong, And When His Work Is Ended Dares Not Sleep.

He Is Not Valiant That Dares Lie; But He That Boldly Bears Calamity.

Trending Author

Monica Bellucci

Harold W. Dodds

Arthur C. Brooks

Category