Slander, whose whisper over the world's diameter, as level as the cannon to its blank, transports its poisoned shot.
A beggar's book outworths a noble's blood.
He doth nothing but talk of his horses.
Gold were as good as twenty orators.
My love is as a fever, longing still.
Not a whit, we defy augury: there's a special providence in the fall of a sparrow. If it be now, 'tis not to come; if it be not to come, it will be now; if it be not now, yet it will come: the readiness is all.