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 Àüü 478°Ç, 9 / 24 pages
NAME   Á¶»óÇö
SUBJECT   To His Coy Mistress - Andrew Marvell



To His Coy Mistress




Had we but World enough, and Time,  

This coyness Lady were no crime.  

We would sit down, and think which way  

To walk, and pass our long Loves Day.  

Thou by the Indian Ganges' side        

Should'st Rubies find: I by the tide  

Of Humber would complain. I would  

Love you ten years before the Flood:  

And you should if you please refuse  

Till the Conversion of the Jews.  

My vegetable Love should grow  

Vaster then Empires, and more slow.  

An hundred years should go to praise  

Thine Eyes, and on thy Forehead Gaze.  

Two hundred to adore each Breast:  

But thirty thousand to the rest.  

An Age at least to every part,  

And the last Age should show your Heart.  

For Lady you deserve this State;  

Nor would I love at lower rate.    

But at my back I always hear  

Times winged Charriot hurrying near:  

And yonder all before us lie  

Deserts of vast Eternity.  

Thy Beauty shall no more be found;    

Nor, in thy marble Vault, shall sound  

My ecchoing Song: then Worms shall try  

That long preserv'd Virginity:  

And your quaint honour turn to dust;  

And into ashes all my Lust.  

The Grave's a fine and private place,  

But none I think do there embrace.  

Now therefore, while the youthful hew  

Sits on thy skin like morning dew  

And while thy willing soul transpires    

At every pore with instant fires,  

Now let us sport us while we may;  

And now, like amorous birds of prey,  

Rather at once our Time devour,  

Than languish in his slow-chapped power.    

Let us roll all our Strength, and all  

Our sweetness, up into one Ball:  

And tear our Pleasures with rough strife,  

Thorough the Iron gates of Life.  

Thus, though we cannot make our Sun  

Stand still, yet we will make him run.







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