When The Mischief Is Done The Door

Trust Me No Tortures Which The Poets Feign Can Match The Fierce Unutterable Pain He Feels, Who Night And Day Devoid Of Rest Carries His Own Accuser In His Breast.

Vice Can Deceive Under The Guise And Shadow Of Virtue.

Revenge, We Find, The Abject Pleasure Of An Abject Mind.

The Abuse Of Cabmen In A Block.

Give Them Bread And Circuses And They Will Never Revolt