To The Elysian Shades Dismiss My Soul,

The Hungry Judges Soon The Sentence Sign, And Wretches Hang That Jurymen May Dine.

Is That A Birthday? 'tis, Alas! Too Clear; 'tis But The Funeral Of The Former Year.

To Swear Is Neither Brave, Polite, Nor Wise.

The Zeal Of Fools Offends At Any Time.

Pleas'd Look Forward, Pleas'd To Look Behind,and Count Each Birthday With A Grateful Mind.