ALL my past life is mine no more;   The flying hours are gone, Like transitory dreams given o'er, Whose images are kept in store   By memory alone.

The time that is to come is not;   How can it then be mine? The present moment 's all my lot; And that, as fast as it is got,   Phillis, is only thine.

Then talk not of inconstancy,   False hearts, and broken vows; If I by miracle can be This live-long minute true to thee,   'Tis all that Heaven allows.