When I consider life 'tis all a cheat,
Yet fool'd with hope, men favour the deceit,
Live on, and think to-morrow will repay --
To-morrow's falser than the former day:
Lies worse, and while it says we shall be blest
With some new joy, cuts off what we possest.
Strange cozenage! who would live past years again?
Yet all hope pleasure from what yet remain --
And from the dregs of life think to receive
What the first sprightly running could not give.
-- Dryden
