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.

You shall more command with years than with your weapons.

But she makes hungry Where she most satisfies.

All's well if all ends well.

And simple truth miscalled simplicity

There live not three good men unhanged in England; and one of them is fat and grows old.

For here, I hope, begins our lasting joy.