There Is Never A Lawsuit But A

A Third Heir Seldom Profits By Ill-gotten Wealth.

Satire Is What Closes Saturday Night.

The Noiseless Foot Of Tune Steals Swiftly By And Ere We Dream Of Manhood, Age Is Nigh.

The Pupil Will Eclipse His Tutor, I Warrant.

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.