The Bounds Of A Man's Knowledge Are

Our Garrick 's A Salad; For In Him We See Oil, Vinegar, Sugar, And Saltness Agree!

Thou Source Of All My Bliss And All My Woe, That Found'st Me Poor At First, And Keep'st Me So.

No Vernal Blooms Their Torpid Rocks Array, But Winter Lingering Chills The Lap Of May; No Zephyr Fondly Sues The Mountain's Breast, But Meteors Glare, And Stormy Glooms Invest.

They Say Women And Music Should Never Be Dated.

All The Bloomy Flush Of Life Is Fled.