|Earl of Rochester|
A S O N G.
ALL my past Life is mine no more,|
The flying Hours are gone,
Like transitory Dreams giv'n o'er,
Whose Images are kept in store,
By Memory alone.
Whatever 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 long-liv'd Minute true to thee,
It's all that Heav'n allows.
Wit and Mirth: or, Pills to Purge Melancholy. Vol IV.
London: W. Pearson for Jacob Tonson, 1719. 306.
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