This is my prayer to thee, my lord – strike, strike at the root of penury in my heart. Give me the strength lightly to bear my joys and sorrows.

To-morrow, didst thou say? Methought I heard Horatio say, To-morrow! Go to--I will not hear it. To-morrow! 'Tis a sharper--who stakes his penury Against thy plenty--takes thy ready cash, And pays thee naught but wishes, hopes, and promises, The currency of idiots--injurious bankrupt, That gulls the easy creditor!

Faint not; the miles to heaven are but few and short.