A Sweet Child Is The Sweetest Thing

Presents, I Often Say, Endear Absents.

Damn The Age. I'll Write For Antiquity.

I Conceive Disgust At These Impertinent And Misbecoming Familiarities Inscribed Upon Your Ordinary Tombstone.

Your Absence Of Mind We Have Borne, Till Your Presence Of Body Came To Be Called In Question By It.

So Near Are The Boundaries Of Panegyric And Invective, That A Worn-out Sinner Is Sometimes Found To Make The Best Declaimer Against Sin. The Same High-seasoned Descriptions Which In His Unregenerate State Served To Inflame His Appetites, In His New Province Of A Moralist Will Serve Him (a Little Turned) To Expose The Enormity Of Those Appetites In Other Men.