Man, Wretched Man, Whene'er He Stoops To

Rare Is The Union Of Beauty And Purity.

The Tongue Is The Vile Slave's Vilest Part.

Who Is To Guard The Guards Themselves?

There Will He Nothing More That Posterity Can Add To Our Immoral Habits; Our Descendants Must Have The Same Desires And Act The Same Follies As Their Sires. Every Vice Has Reached Its Zenith.

The Smell Of Profit Is Clean And Sweet, Whatever The Source.