{"id":689,"date":"2019-03-05T16:22:06","date_gmt":"2019-03-05T16:22:06","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/epcc-britlit1\/?post_type=chapter&p=689"},"modified":"2019-07-14T15:01:29","modified_gmt":"2019-07-14T15:01:29","slug":"to-his-coy-mistress","status":"publish","type":"chapter","link":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/epcc-britlit1\/chapter\/to-his-coy-mistress\/","title":{"raw":"To His Coy Mistress","rendered":"To His Coy Mistress"},"content":{"raw":"
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\r\n\r\n\"To His Coy Mistress\" is a poem written by the British author and Puritan statesman Andrew Marvell (1621 \u2013 1678) either during or just before the Interregnum. The poem is often considered one of the finest and most concise carpe diem arguments ever put in verse. Marvell probably wrote the poem prior to serving in Oliver Cromwell's government as a minister, and the poem was not published in his lifetime. \u2014 <\/span>Excerpted from\u00a0\u00a0<\/i>To His Coy Mistress<\/a> on Wikipedia<\/a>, the free encyclopedia.<\/i>\r\n\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n
To His Coy Mistress<\/span><\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n
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\r\n\r\nHad we but world enough, and time,\r\nThis coyness, lady, were no crime.\r\nWe would sit down, and think which way\r\nTo walk, and pass our long love's day.\r\nThou by the Indian Ganges' side\r\nShouldst rubies find; I by the tide\r\nOf Humber would complain. I would\r\nLove you ten years before the flood,\r\nAnd you should, if you please, refuse\r\nTill the conversion of the Jews.\r\nMy vegetable love should grow\r\nVaster than empires, and more slow;\r\nAn hundred years should go to praise\r\nThine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze;\r\nTwo hundred to adore each breast,\r\nBut thirty thousand to the rest;\r\nAn age at least to every part,\r\nAnd the last age should show your heart.\r\nFor, lady, you deserve this state,\r\nNor would I love at lower rate.\r\nBut at my back I always hear\r\nTime's winged chariot hurrying near;\r\nAnd yonder all before us lie\r\nDeserts of vast eternity.\r\nThy beauty shall no more be found,\r\nNor, in thy marble vault shall sound\r\nMy echoing song; then worms shall try\r\nThat long-preserved virginity,\r\nAnd your quaint honour turn to dust,\r\nAnd into ashes all my lust:\r\nThe grave's a fine and private place,\r\nBut none, I think, do there embrace.\r\nNow therefore, while the youthful hue\r\nSits on thy skin like morning dew,\r\nAnd while thy willing soul transpires\r\nAt every pore with instant fires,\r\nNow let us sport us while we may,\r\nAnd now, like amorous birds of prey,\r\nRather at once our time devour\r\nThan languish in his slow-chapped power.\r\nLet us roll all our strength and all\r\nOur sweetness up into one ball,\r\nAnd tear our pleasures with rough strife\r\nThorough the iron gates of life.\r\nThus, though we cannot make our sun\r\nStand still, yet we will make him run.\r\n\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>","rendered":"
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“To His Coy Mistress” is a poem written by the British author and Puritan statesman Andrew Marvell (1621 \u2013 1678) either during or just before the Interregnum. The poem is often considered one of the finest and most concise carpe diem arguments ever put in verse. Marvell probably wrote the poem prior to serving in Oliver Cromwell’s government as a minister, and the poem was not published in his lifetime. \u2014 <\/span>Excerpted from\u00a0\u00a0<\/i>To His Coy Mistress<\/a> on Wikipedia<\/a>, the free encyclopedia.<\/i><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

To His Coy Mistress<\/span><\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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Had we but world enough, and time,
\nThis coyness, lady, were no crime.
\nWe would sit down, and think which way
\nTo walk, and pass our long love’s day.
\nThou by the Indian Ganges’ side
\nShouldst rubies find; I by the tide
\nOf Humber would complain. I would
\nLove you ten years before the flood,
\nAnd you should, if you please, refuse
\nTill the conversion of the Jews.
\nMy vegetable love should grow
\nVaster than empires, and more slow;
\nAn hundred years should go to praise
\nThine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze;
\nTwo hundred to adore each breast,
\nBut thirty thousand to the rest;
\nAn age at least to every part,
\nAnd the last age should show your heart.
\nFor, lady, you deserve this state,
\nNor would I love at lower rate.
\nBut at my back I always hear
\nTime’s winged chariot hurrying near;
\nAnd yonder all before us lie
\nDeserts of vast eternity.
\nThy beauty shall no more be found,
\nNor, in thy marble vault shall sound
\nMy echoing song; then worms shall try
\nThat long-preserved virginity,
\nAnd your quaint honour turn to dust,
\nAnd into ashes all my lust:
\nThe grave’s a fine and private place,
\nBut none, I think, do there embrace.
\nNow therefore, while the youthful hue
\nSits on thy skin like morning dew,
\nAnd while thy willing soul transpires
\nAt every pore with instant fires,
\nNow let us sport us while we may,
\nAnd now, like amorous birds of prey,
\nRather at once our time devour
\nThan languish in his slow-chapped power.
\nLet us roll all our strength and all
\nOur sweetness up into one ball,
\nAnd tear our pleasures with rough strife
\nThorough the iron gates of life.
\nThus, though we cannot make our sun
\nStand still, yet we will make him run.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\t\t\t

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Candela Citations<\/h3>\n\t\t\t\t\t
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Public domain content<\/div>