To smell of a nosegay that was poisoned, and turn your nose to a house
that had　the plague, it was all one. The clouds, like a number of cormorants
that keep their corn　till it stink and is musty, kept in their stinking exhalations
till they had almost stifled all　Rome’s inhabitants. Physicians’ greediness of
gold made them greedy of their destiny.　They would come to visit those with
whose infirmity their art had no affinity, and even as　a man with a fee should
be hired to hang himself, so would they quietly go home and die　presently after
they had been with their patients.