There Is A Plague On Man, The

Tis The Taste Of Effeminacy That Disrelishes Ordinary And Accustomed Things.

A Straight Oar Looks Bent In The Water. It Matters Not Merely That We See A Thing, But How We See It.

For All Parts Of The Body That We See Fit To Expose To The Wind And Air Are Found Fit To Endure It: Face, Feet, Hands, Legs, Shoulders, Head, According As Custom Invites Us. For If There Is A Part Of Us That Is Tender And That Seems As Though It Should Fear The Cold, It Should Be The Stomach, Where Digestion Takes Place; Our Fathers Left It Uncovered, And Our Ladies, Soft And Delicate As They Are, Sometimes Go Half Bare Down To The Navel.

There Is A Plague On Man, The Opinion That He Knows Something.

There Is Not One Of Us That Would Not Be Worse Than Kings, If So Continually Corrupted As They Are With A Sort Of Vermin Called Flatterers.