Our Garrick 's A Salad; For In

The Heart Of Every Man Lies Open To The Shafts Of Correction If The Archer Can Take Proper Aim.

The Wretch Condemn'd With Life To Part, Still, Still On Hope Relies; And Every Pang That Rends The Heart Bids Expectation Rise.

Eternal Blessings Crown My Earliest Friend, And Round His Dwelling Guardian Saints Attend.

To Husband Out Life's Taper At The Close, And Keep The Flames From Wasting By Repose.

Of Praise A Mere Glutton, He Swallow'd What Came, And The Puff A Dunce, He Mistook It For Fame; Till His Relish Grown Callous, Almost To Displease, Who Pepper'd The Highest Was Surest To Please.