(Infamous for lies) as on a rock of adamant
We build our mountain hopes, spin our eternal schemes,
And big with life’s futurities expire.
Young.
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 fetch’d this morrow, that I fear
’Twill be both very old and very dear.