Not from the stars do I my judgement pluck, And yet methinks I have astronomy. But not to tell of good or evil luck, Of plagues, of dearths, or season's quality; Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell ... Or say with princes if it shall go well.

I do I know not what, and fear to find Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind. Fate, show thy force. Ourselves we do not owe. What is decreed must be; and be this so.

God, the best maker of all marriages, Combine your hearts into one.

For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright, who art as black as hell, as dark as night.

Tired with all these, for restful death I cry.

Report of fashions in proud Italy Whose manners still our tardy-apish nation Limps after in base imitation

He that is robbed, not wanting what is stolen, him not know t, and he's not robbed at all.