Fine Declamation Does Not Consist In Flowery

Elegy On The Death Of A Mad Dog And In That Town A Dog Was Found, As Many Dogs There Be, Both Mongrel, Puppy, Whelp, And Hound, And Curs Of Low Degree.

There Is One Way By Which A Strolling Player May Be Ever Secure Of Success; That Is, In Our Theatrical Way Of Expressing It, To Make A Great Deal Of The Character. To Speak And Act As In Common Life Is Not Playing, Nor Is It What People Come To See; Natural Speaking, Like Sweet Wine, Runs Glibly Over The Palate And Scarcely Leaves Any Taste Behind It; But Being High In A Part Resembles Vinegar, Which Grates Upon The Taste, And One Feels It While He Is Drinking.

Don't Let Us Make Imaginary Evils, When You Know We Have So Many Real Ones To Encounter.

Life At The Greatest And Best Is But A Froward Child, That Must Be Humored And Coaxed A Little Till It Falls Asleep, And Then All The Care Is Over.

What If In Scotland's Wilds We Viel'd Our Head, Where Tempests Whistle Round The Sordid Bed; Where The Rug's Two-fold Use We Might Display, By Night A Blanket, And A Plaid By Day.