Merit, God Knows, Is Very Little Rewarded.

There Is A Pleasure In Affecting Affectation.

Satire Does Not Look Pretty Upon A Tombstone.

The Man Must Have A Rare Recipe For Melancholy, Who Can Be Dull In Fleet Street.

The Good Things Of Life Are Not To Be Had Singly, But Come To Us With A Mixture; Like A School-boy's Holiday, With A Task Affixed To The Tail Of It.

A Flow'ret Crushed In The Bud, A Nameless Piece Of Babyhood, Was In Her Cradle-coffin Lying; Extinct, With Scarce The Sense Of Dying