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.
Present fears are less than horrible imaginings.
This is the short and the long of it.
Better three hours too soon than a minute too late.
To England will I steal, and there I'll steal.
Where hateful Death put on his ugliest mask.