Be A Gentleman Farmer.

I Only Feel, But Want The Power To Paint.

The Brief Span Of Our Poor Unhappy Life To Its Final Hour Is Hastening On; And While We Drink And Call For Gay Wreaths, Perfumes, And Young Girls, Old Age Creeps Upon Us, Unperceived.

Now That No One Buys Our Votes, The Public Has Long Since Cast Off Its Cares; For The People That Once Bestowed Commands, Consulships, Legions, And All Else, Now Meddles No More And Longs Eagerly For Just Two Things - Bread And Circuses.

No One Ever Reached The Worst Of A Vice At One Leap

Generally, Common Sense Is Rare In The (higher) Rank.