Alexandria Gazette

To-morrow, didst thou say!
Methought I heard Horatio say, To-morrow:
Go to—I will not hear of it—To-morrow!
'Tis a sharper, who stakes his penury
Against thy plenty—who takes thy ready
cash,
And pays thee nought but wishes, hopes,
and promises,
The currency of idiots.—Imperious bankrupt,
That gulls the easy creditor!—To-morrow!
It is a period no where to be found,
In all the hoary register of Time,
Unless perchance in the fool's calendar.
Wisdom disclaims the word nor holds
solely
With those who own it.—No, my Horatio,
'Tis Fancy's child, and Folly is its father;
Wrought of such stuff as dreams are; and baseless
As the fantastic visions of the evening.
But soft, my friend—arrest the present moments;
For be assured, they all are arrant tell-tales,
And tho' their flight be silent, and their path
Trackless, as the winged couriers of the air,
They post to Heaven, and there record thy folly.
Because, tho' stationed, on the important watch,
Thou, like a sleeping, faithless sentinel,
Didst let them pass, unnoticed, unimproved.
And know, for that thou slumb'rest, on the guard,
Thou shalt be made to answer at the bar
For every fugitive: and when thou thus
Shalt stand impleaded, at the high tribunal
Of hood-winked justice, who shall tell thy audit!
Then stay the present moment, dear Horatio.
Imprint the marks of wisdom on its wings.
'Tis of more worth than kingdoms! far more precious
Than all the crimson treasury of life's fountain.
On! let it not elude thy grasp, but like the good old Patriarch upon record,
Hold the fleet angel fast, until he bless thee.