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To a Lady Asking Him
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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 Blesséd, 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? — Sir George Etherege
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