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 should draw upon you all my forces out of Seneca and Plutarch upon this subject, I should overwhelm you, but I leave those as triarii for your next charges. I shall only give you now a light skirmish out of an epigrammatist, your special good friend, and so, vale.

To-morrow you will live, you always cry; In what far country does this morrow lie, That 'tis so mighty long ere it arrive? Beyond the Indies does this morrow live? 'Tis so far-fetched, this morrow, that I fear 'Twill be both very old and very dear. To-morrow I will live, the fool does say; To-day itself's too late, the wise lived yesterday.

Wonder not, sir (you who instruct the town In the true wisdom of the sacred gown), That I make haste to live, and cannot hold