Tomorrow, more's the pity, Away we both must hie, To air the ditty and to earth I.

All knots that lovers tie Are tied to sever. Here shall your sweetheart lie, Untrue for ever.

Three minutes thought would suffice to find this out; but thought is irksome and three minutes is a long time.

They say my verse is sad: no wonder; Its narrow measure spans Tears of eternity, and sorrow, Not mine. but man's.

Tomorrow, more's the pity, Away we both must hie, To air the ditty and to earth I.

Mithridates, he died old. Housman's passage is based on the belief of the ancients that Mithridates the Great [c. 135-63 B.C.] had so saturated his body with poisons that none could injure him. When captured by the Romans he tried in vain to poison himself, then ordered a Gallic mercenary to kill him.

A moment's thought would have shown him. But a moment is a long time, and thought is a painful process.