Profit is a blessing, if it's not stolen.
O, how wretched is that poor man that hangs on princes' favors.
Thou hast seen a farmer's dog bark at a beggar? And the creature run from the cur. There thou mightst behold the great image of authority-a dog's obeyed in office.
O wretched state! o bosom black as death!
When truth kills truth, O devilish holy fray!
Who soars too near the sun, with golden wings, melts them.