Apt words have power to suage the tumors of a troubled mind.

And, when night Darkens the streets, then wander forth the sons Of Belial, flown with insolence and wine.

Lords are lordliest in their wine.

In naked beauty most adorned.

Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day.

Luck is the residue of design.

Let none admire that riches grow in hell; that soil may best deserve the precious bane.