It is the stars, The stars above us, govern our conditions.
Foul whisp'rings are abroad.
Slander, whose whisper over the world's diameter, as level as the cannon to its blank, transports its poisoned shot.
The most peerless piece of earth, I think, that e' er the sun shone bright on.
With caution judge of probability. Things deemed unlikely, e'en impossible, experience oft hath proved to be true.
A very honest woman but something given to lie