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The Full Text of “To His Coy Mistress”
Had we but world enough and time,
This coyness, lady, were no crime. If we had all the time in the world, your prudishness wouldn't be a problem. We would sit down, and think which way To walk, and pass our long love’s day. We would sit together and decide how to spend the day. Thou by the Indian Ganges’ side Shouldst rubies find; I by the tide Of Humber would complain. You would walk by the river Ganges in India and find rubies; I would walk by the river Humber in England and write my poems. I would Love you ten years before the flood, And you should, if you please, refuse Till the conversion of the Jews. I would love you from the very start of time, even before the Biblical Flood; you could refuse to consummate our relationship all the way until the apocalypse. My vegetable love should grow Vaster than empires and more slow; My slow-growing love would gradually become bigger than the largest empires. An hundred years should go to praise Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze; Two hundred to adore each breast, I would spend a hundred years praising your eyes and gazing at your forehead and two hundred years on each of your breasts. But thirty thousand to the rest; An age at least to every part, I would dedicate thirty thousand years to the rest of your body and give an era of human history to each part of you. And the last age should show your heart. In the final age, your heart would reveal itself. For, lady, you deserve this state, Nor would I love at lower rate. Lady, you deserve this kind of dedication—and I don't want to accept any lesser kind of love. But at my back I always hear Time’s wingèd chariot hurrying near; But I am always aware of time, the way it flies by. And yonder all before us lie Deserts of vast eternity. But I am always aware of time, the way it flies by. Thy beauty shall no more be found; Your beauty will be lost. Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound My echoing song; then worms shall try That long-preserved virginity, In the grave, my songs in praise of you will no longer be heard. And worms will take the virginity you so carefully protected during life. 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. Your honor will turn to dust and my desire will turn to ashes. The grave may be a quiet, private place—but no one has sex there. Now therefore, while the youthful hue 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, Therefore, while your beauty sits right at the surface of your skin, and every pore of your body exudes erotic passion, let's have sex while we can. And now, like amorous birds of prey, Rather at once our time devour Than languish in his slow-chapped power. Let's devour time like lovesick birds of prey instead of lying about letting time eat away at us. Let us roll all our strength and all Our sweetness up into one ball, And tear our pleasures with rough strife Through the iron gates of life: Let's put together our strength and our sweetness and use it as a weapon against the iron gates of life. Thus, though we cannot make our sun Stand still, yet we will make him run. We may not be able to defeat time in this way, but at least we can make it work hard to take us.
