The Life Of A Wit Is A

Good-humor Only Teaches Charms To Last, Still Makes New Conquests And Maintains The Past.

Die Of A Rose In Aromatic Pain.

And Seem To Walk On Wings, And Tread In Air.

Oh! Blest With Temper, Whose Unclouded Ray Can Make To-morrow Cheerful As To-day.

The Lamb Thy Riot Dooms To Bleed Today, Had He Thy Reason, Would He Skip And Play? Pleas'd To The Last He Crops The Flow'ry Food, And Licks The Hand Just Rais'd To Shed His Blood.