IT is not, Celia, in our power   To say how long our love will last; It may be we within this hour   May lose those joys we now do taste; The Blessed, that immortal be, From change in love are only free.

Then since we mortal lovers are,   Ask not how long our love will last; But while it does, let us take care   Each minute be with pleasure past: Were it not madness to deny To live because we're sure to die?