Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind;
The thief doth fear each bush an officer.
And then it started like a guilty thing
Upon a fearful summons.
So full of artless jealousy is guilt,
It spills itself in fearing to be spilt.
1 Clo. Argal, he that is not guilty of his own death shortens not his own life.
2 Clo. But is this law?
1 Clo. Ay, marry, is 't; crowner's quest law.
The jury, passing on the prisoner's life,
May in the sworn twelve have a thief or two
Guiltier than him they try.
The world was very guilty of such a ballad some three ages since; but I think now 't is not to be found.
So dear to heav'n is saintly chastity,
That when a soul is found sincerely so,
A thousand liveried angels lackey her,
Driving far off each thing of sin and guilt,
And in clear dream and solemn vision
Tell her of things that no gross ear can hear,
Till oft converse with heav'nly habitants
Begin to cast a beam on th' outward shape.
Though with those streams he no resemblance hold,
Whose foam is amber and their gravel gold;
His genuine and less guilty wealth t' explore,
Search not his bottom, but survey his shore.
But whither am I strayed? I need not raise
Trophies to thee from other men's dispraise;
Nor is thy fame on lesser ruins built;
Nor needs thy juster title the foul guilt
Of Eastern kings, who, to secure their reign,
Must have their brothers, sons, and kindred slain.
Thy steady temper, Portius,
Can look on guilt, rebellion, fraud, and Cæsar,
In the calm lights of mild philosophy.
Philips, whose touch harmonious could remove
The pangs of guilty power and hapless love!
Rest here, distress'd by poverty no more;
Here find that calm thou gav'st so oft before;
Sleep undisturb'd within this peaceful shrine,
Till angels wake thee with a note like thine!
Some village Hampden, that with dauntless breast
The little tyrant of his fields withstood,
Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest,
Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood.
When lovely woman stoops to folly,
And finds too late that men betray,
What charm can soothe her melancholy?
What art can wash her guilt away?
The only art her guilt to cover,
To hide her shame from every eye,
To give repentance to her lover,
And wring his bosom, is--to die.
Men the most infamous are fond of fame,
And those who fear not guilt yet start at shame.
Those obstinate questionings
Of sense and outward things,
Fallings from us, vanishings,
Blank misgivings of a creature
Moving about in worlds not realized,
High instincts before which our mortal nature
Did tremble like a guilty thing surprised.
I know not, I ask not, if guilt's in that heart,
I but know that I love thee whatever thou art.
In my mind, he was guilty of no error, he was chargeable with no exaggeration, he was betrayed by his fancy into no metaphor, who once said that all we see about us, kings, lords, and Commons, the whole machinery of the State, all the apparatus of the system, and its varied workings, end in simply bringing twelve good men into a box.
Every guilty deed
Holds in itself the seed
Of retribution and undying pain.
Let no guilty man escape, if it can be avoided. No personal considerations should stand in the way of performing a public duty.
Guilty consciences always make people cowards.
A guilty conscience never feels secure.
A little folly is desirable in him that will not be guilty of stupidity.
'There has to be eternal chastisement. That means eternal life.' 'A bit one-sided, all stick, no sugar. Listen, we're all sent to one big bedroom. Hitler undivided from John the twenty-third, the innocent and guilty, raped and rapist, with no cup of tea or orange juice to wake us up'.
We have all come to feel a powerful and desperate guilt since the revelations of Belson and the blasting of Hiroshima: there are few of us now, Christian or not, who would reject the doctrine of original sin