The Worm Is Not To

Policy Sits Above Conscience.

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

O World, World! Thus Is The Poor Agent Despised. O Traitors And Bawds, How Earnestly Are You Set A-work, And How Ill Requited! Why Should Our Endeavor Be So Loved, And The Performance So Loathed?

How Poor Are They That Have Have Not Patients.

To Have Seen Much And To Have Nothing Is To Have Rich Eyes And Poor Hands.