“When I consider Life, 'tis all a cheat;Yet, fooled with hope, men favour the deceit;Trust on, and think to-morrow will repay:To-morrow's falser than the former day;Lies worse; and while it says, we shall be blestWith some new joys, cuts off what we possesst.”

“How strange a Chequer Work of Providence is the Life of Man! and by what secret differing Springs are the Affections hurry'd about as differing Circumstances present! To Day we love what to Morrow we hate; to Day we seek what to Morrow we shun; to Day we desire what to Morrow we fear; nay even tremble at the Apprehensions of;”

“Her strong enchantments failing, Her towers of fear in wreck,Her limbecks dried of poisons And the knife at her neck,The Queen of air and darkness Begins to shrill and cry,`O young man, O my slayer To-morrow you shall die.'O Queen of air and darkness I think 'tis truth you say,And I shall die to-morrow; But you shall die to-day.”

“For this day only is ours, we are dead to yesterday, and we are not yet born to the morrow.”

“Would you be happy! hearken, then, the way:Heed not to-morrow, heed not yesterday;The magic words of life are here and now -O fools, that after some to-morrow stray!”

“And by what secret differing springs are the affections hurried about, as differing circumstances present! To-day we love what to-morrow we hate- to-day we seek what to-morrow we shun- to-day we desire what tomorrow we fear, nay, even tremble at the apprehensions of.”