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?