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To His Coy Mistress
Andrew Marvell
APhoenixPaperback
Thiseditionpublishedin 1996byPhoenix,
aDivisionofOrionBooksLtd,
OrionHouse, 5UpperStMartin'sLane,LondonWC2H9EA
©
Copyright OrionBooksLtd1996
Coverillustration:PortraitofDianaKirke,bySirPeterLely,
YaleCenterforBritishArt,PaulMellonCollection
Allrightsreserved.Nopartofthispublicationmaybe
reproduced,storedinaretrievalsystem,ortransmitted,
inanyformorbyanymeans,electronic,
mechanical,photocopying,recordingorotherwise,
withoutthepriorpermissionofthecopyrightowner.
isbn1 85799669o
TypesetbyCentraCetLtd,Cambridge
PrintedinGreatBritainby
ClaysLtd,StIvespic
Contents
Tohis CoyMistress i
The Coronet
3
Bermudas
4
TheNymph complainingforthedeath
ofherFaun 5
YoungLove 10
ThePicture oflittle T. C. ina Prospect
ofFlowers 12
The Garden 14
UponAppleton House, tomyLord
Fairfax 17
AnHoratian Odeupon Cromwel's
Returnfrom Ireland
53
A Note onAndrew Marvel 58
1
To his CoyMistress
Hadwe butWorld enough, andTime
Thiscoyness Ladywere nocrime.
We would sitdown, andthinkwhichway
Towalk, andpass our long Loves Day.
Thou bythe Indian Ganges side
Should'stRubies find: I by theTide
OfHumberwouldcomplain. I would
Loveyoutenyears before the Flood:
And youshould ifyou please refuse
Till the ConversionoftheJews.
My vegetable Love shouldgrow
Vasterthen Empires, andmore slow.
Anhundredyears shouldgo topraise
Thine Eyes, and onthy Forehead Gaze.
Twohundredto adore each Breast:
Butthirtythousandto the rest.
AnAge atleastto every part,
And the lastAge should showyourHeart.
For Ladyyoudeserve this State;
NorwouldI love atlowerrate.
But atmy backI alwaies hear
Timeswinged Charriothurryingnear:
Andyonderall before us lye
Desarts ofvast Eternity.
Thy Beauty shall nomore be found,
Nor, in thymarbleVault, shall sound
My ecchoing Song: thenWorms shall try
That long preserv'd Virginity:
And your quaintHonour turn todust;
And into ashes all my Lust.
The Grave's a fine and private place,
But none I thinkdo there embrace.
Now therefore, while the youthful hew
Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
Andwhile thywillingSoul transpires
Atevery porewith instantFires,
Now let us sport us while we may;
And now, like am'rous birdsofprey,
Rather atonce ourTime devour,
Than languish in his slow-chaptpow'r.
Let us roll all our Strength, andall
Our sweetness up intoone Ball:
And tearourPleasures with rough strife,
Thorough the Irongates ofLife.
Thus, though wecannotmake our Sun
Stand still, yetwe will make him run.
The Coronet
When fortheThornswithwhichI long, too
long,
Withmanya piercingwound,
MySaviours head havecrown'd,
I seekwith Garlandsto redress thatWrong:
Throughevery Garden, everyMead,
Igatherflow'rs (my fruits are only flow'rs)
Dismantlingall the fragrantTowers
ThatonceadornedmyShepherdesses head.
AndnowwhenI have summ'd upall my store,
Thinking (so Imy selfdeceive)
Sorich a Chapletthence toweave
As neveryetthe kingofGlorywore:
Alas Ifindthe Serpentold
That, twininginhis speckled breast,
Aboutthe flow'rsdisguis'ddoes fold,
Withwreaths ofFame and Interest.
Ah, foolish Man, thatwould'stdebase withthem
And mortal Glory, Heaven's Diadem!
Butthouwhoonlycould'stthe Serpenttame,
Eitherhis slipp'ryknots atonce untie,
And disintangle all hiswindingSnare:
Orshattertoowithhim mycurious frame:
And letthese wither, sothathe may die,
Though setwith Skill andchosen outwith Care.
That they, whileThou on boththeirSpoils dosttread,
May crown thy Feet, thatcould notcrown thy Head,
Bermudas
Where the remote Bermudas ride
In th' Oceans bosome unespy'd,
From a small Boat, thatrow'd along,
The listningWinds receiv'dthis Song.
Whatshouldwe do butsinghis Praise
Thatled usthrough the watryMaze,
Unto an Isle so long unknown,
Andyetfarkinderthanourown?
Where he the huge Sea-Monsters wracks,
That liftthe Deep upon their Backs.
He lands us on a grassyStage;
Safe from the Storms, andPrelat's rage,
He gave us this eternal Spring,
Which here enamells every thing;
And sends the Fowl's to us incare,
On dailyVisits throughtheAir.
He hangs inshades the Orange bright,
Like golden Lamps in a green Night.
And does in the Pomgranatesclose,
Jewels more rich than Ormus show's.
He makes the Figs ourmouths tomeet;
And throws the Melons atour feet.
