Rumor is a pipe Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures.

A harmless necessary cat.

Now entertain conjecture of a time When creeping murmur and the poring dark Fills the wide vessel of the universe.

Suit the action to the word, the word to the action.

Then is it sin to rush into the secret house of death. Ere death dare come to us?

I find my zenith doth depend upon A most auspicious star, whose influence If now I court not, but omit, my fortunes Will ever after droop.

Better a witty fool than a foolish wit.