Page 2302 - Shakespeare - Vol. 4

«O opportunity, thy guilt is great!
’Tis thou that execut’st the traitor’s treason;
Thou sets the wolf where he the lamb may get;
Whoever plots the sin, thou poinst the season.

’Tis thou that spurn’st at right, at law, at reason; [880]
And in thy shady cell where none may spy him,
Sits sin to seize the souls that wander by him.

«Thou mak’st the vestal violate her oath;

Thou blow’st the fire when temperance is thaw’d;
Thou smother’st honesty, thou murder’st troth, [885]
Thou foul abettor, thou notorious bawd!
Thou plantest scandal, and displacest laud:
Thou ravisher, thou traitor, thou false thief!

Thy honey turns to gall, thy joy to grief.

«Thy secret pleasure turns to open shame, [890]
Thy private feasting to a public fast,
Thy smoothing titles to a ragged name,
Thy sugar’d tongue to bitter wormwood taste;

Thy violent vanities can never last.
How comes it then, vile opportunity, [895]
Being so bad, such numbers seek for thee?

«When wilt thou be the humble suppliant’s friend,

And bring him where his suit may be obtained?
When wilt thou sort an hour great strifes to end,
Or free that soul which wretchedness hath chained? [900]
Give physic to the sick, ease to the pained?

The poor, lame, blind, halt, creep, cry out for thee;
But they ne’er meet with opportunity.

«The patient dies while the physician sleeps;
The orphan pines while the oppressor feeds; [905]
Justice is feasting while the widow weeps;

Advice is sporting while infection breeds.
Thou grant’st no time for charitable deeds;