Go, bid the soldiers shoot.

A man may see how this world goes with no eyes. Look with thine ears: see how yond justice rails upon yon simple thief. Hark, in thine ear: change places; and, handy-dandy, which is the justice, which is the thief?

We must take the current when it serves, or lose our ventures.

Men judge by the complexion of the sky The state and inclination of the day.

Men prize the thing ungained more than it is.

But it is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted from many objects, and indeed the sundry contemplation of my travels, which, by often rumination, wraps me in the most humorous sadness.

On Rumor's tongue continual slanders ride.