We make guilty of our disasters the sun, the moon, and the stars; as if we were villians by compulsion.

When griping grief the heart doth wound, and doleful dumps the mind opresses, then music, with her silver sound, with speedy help doth lend redress.

Come my spade. There is no ancient gentlemen but gardeners, ditchers, and grave-makers; they hold up Adam's profession.

Go wisely and slowly. Those who rush stumble and fall.

For in my youth I never did apply Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood.

Glory is like a circle in the water, which never ceaseth to enlarge itself, till, by broad spreading, it disperse to naught.

Thou hast nor youth nor age But as it were an after dinner sleep Dreaming of both.