Like Warmed-up Cabbage Served At Each Repast,

Every Man's Credit Is Proportioned To The Money Which He Has In His Chest. [lat., Quantum Quisque Sua Nummorum Condit In Area, Tantum Habet Et Fidei.]

Many Suffer From The Incurable Disease Of Writing, And It Becomes Chronic In Their Sick Minds.

Now That No One Buys Our Votes, The Public Has Long Since Cast Off Its Cares; For The People That Once Bestowed Commands, Consulships, Legions, And All Else, Now Meddles No More And Longs Eagerly For Just Two Things - Bread And Circuses.

Fortune Can, For Her Pleasure, Fools Advance, And Toss Them On The Wheels Of Chance.

The People That Once Bestowed Commands, Consulships, Legions, And All Else, Now Concerns Itself No More, And Longs Eagerly For Just Two Things: Bread And Circuses!