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To His Coy Mistress by Andrew Marvell

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Hannah Nicole Alicaya STEM-1101

To His Coy Mistress


By: Andrew Marvel

Had we but world enough, and time, Thy beauty shall no more be found;
This coyness Lady were no crime. Nor, in thy marble vault shall sound
We would sit down and think which way My echoing song; then worms shall try
To walk, and pass our long love’s day. That long preserved virginity,
Thou by the Indian Ganges’ side And your quaint honor turn to dust,
Shouldst rubies find; I by the tide And into ashes all my lust:
Of Humber would complain. The grave’s a fine and private place,
I would Love you ten years before the flood, But none, I think, do there embrace.
And you should, if you please, refuse Now therefore while the youthful hue
Till the conversion of the Jews. Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
My vegetable love should grow And while thy willing soul transpires
Vaster than empires and more slow; At every pore with instant fires,
An hundred years should go to praise Now let us sport us while we may,
Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze; And now, like amorous birds of prey,
Two hundred to adore each breast, Rather at once our time devour
But thirty thousand to the rest; Than languish in his slow-chapped power.
An age at least to every part, Let us roll all our strength and all
And the last age should show your heart. Our sweetness up into one ball,
For, lady, you deserve this state, And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Nor would I love at lower rate. Thorough the iron gates of life:
But at my back I always hear Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Times winged chariot hurrying near; Stand still, yet we will make him run.
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.

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