He Tried The Luxury Of Doing Good.

Virtues Neglected Then, Adored Become, And Graces Slighted, Blossom On The Tomb.

Dreams Are Like Portraits; And We Find They Please Because They Are Confessed Resemblances.

Habit With Him Was All The Test Of Truth; It Must Be Right: I've Done It From My Youth.

Void Of All Honor, Avaricious, Rash, The Daring Tribe Compound Their Boasted Trash Tincture Of Syrup, Lotion, Drop, Or Pill; All Tempt The Sick To Trust The Lying Bill.

I Paint The Cot, As Truth Will Paint It, And As Bards Will Not.