I Will It, I Order It, Let

The Smell Of Money Is Good, Come Whence It May. [alluding To Vespasian's Tax On Ordure.]

Avarice Increases With The Increasing Pile Of Gold.

Remote Though Your Farm May Be, It's Something To Be The Lord Of One Green Lizard-and Free.

The Arrows Are From Her Dowry.

The Act Of God Injures No One.