Bad Is The Trade That

Take Physic, Pomp; Expose Thyself To Feel What Wretches Feel, That Thou Mayst Shake The Superflux To Them And Show The Heavens More Just.

For As A Surfeit Of The Sweetest Things The Deepest Loathing To The Stomach Brings, Or As Tie Heresies That Men Do Leave Are Hated Most Of Those They Did Deceive, So Thou, My Surfeit And My Heresy, Of All Be Hated, But The Most Of Me!

O, What A World Of Vile Ill-favored Faults, Looks Handsome In Three Hundred Pounds A Year!

Come The Three Corners Of The World In Arms, And We Shall Shock Them.

They Whose Guilt Within Their Bosom Lies, Imagine Every Eye Beholds Their Blame.