O! How Vain And Vile

A New Disease? I Know Not, New Or Old, But It May Well Be Called Poor Mortals Plague For, Like A Pestilence, It Doth Infect The Houses Of The Brain Till Not A Thought, Or Motion, In The Mind, Be Free From The Black Poison Of Suspect.

Ambition, Like A Torrent, Never Looks Back.

Tis The Common Disease Of All Your Musicians That They Know No Mean, To Be Entreated, Either To Begin Or End.

There Is No Greater Hell Than To Be A Prisoner Of Fear.

The World Knows Only Two, That's Rome And I.