Men judge by the complexion of the sky The state and inclination of the day.

Thus can the demigod Authority Make us pay down for our offense by weight The words of heaven; on whom it will, it will, On whom it will not, so: yet still 'tis just.

A glooming peace this morning with it brings; The sun, for sorrow, will not show his head: Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things; Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished: For never was a story of more woe Than this of Juliet and her Romeo.

The whirligig of time brings in his revenges.

These cardinals trifle with me; I abhor; This dilatory sloth and tricks of Rome.

They say best men are molded out of faults, And, for the most, become much more the better For being a little bad

Manhood is melted into courtesies, valor into compliment, and men are only turned into tongue, and trim ones, too.