The Very Pink Of Perfection.

As For Murmurs, Mother, We Grumble A Little Now And Then, To Be Sure; But There's No Love Lost Between Us.

Who, Born For The Universe, Narrow'd His Mind, And To Party Gave Up What Was Meant For Mankind; Though Fraught With All Learning, Yet Straining His Throat To Persuade Tommy Townshend To Lend Him A Vote. Who Too Deep For His Hearers Still Went On Refining, And Thought Of Convincing While They Thought Of Dining: Though Equal To All Things, For All Things Unfit; Too Nice For A Statesman, Too Proud For A Wit.

To The Last Moment Of His Breath, On Hope The Wretch Relies; And Even The Pang Preceding Death Bids Expectation Rise.

Error Is Ever Talkative.

They Say Women And Music Should Never Be Dated.