"To His Coy Mistress" is a poem by the English poet Andrew Marvell. Most likely written in the 1650s in the midst of the English Interregnum, the poem was not published until the 1680s, after Marvell's death. "To His Coy Mistress" is a carpe diem poem: following the example of Roman poets like Horace, it urges a young woman to enjoy the pleasures of life before death claims her. Indeed, the poem is an attempt to seduce the titular "coy mistress." In the process, however, the speaker dwells with grotesque intensity on death itself. Death seems to take over the poem, displacing the speaker's erotic energy and filling the poem with dread.
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1Had we but world enough and time,
2This coyness, lady, were no crime.
3We would sit down, and think which way
4To walk, and pass our long love’s day.
5Thou by the Indian Ganges’ side
6Shouldst rubies find; I by the tide
7Of Humber would complain. I would
8Love you ten years before the flood,
9And you should, if you please, refuse
10Till the conversion of the Jews.
11My vegetable love should grow
12Vaster than empires and more slow;
13An hundred years should go to praise
14Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze;
15Two hundred to adore each breast,
16But thirty thousand to the rest;
17An age at least to every part,
18And the last age should show your heart.
19For, lady, you deserve this state,
20Nor would I love at lower rate.
21 But at my back I always hear
22Time’s wingèd chariot hurrying near;
23And yonder all before us lie
24Deserts of vast eternity.
25Thy beauty shall no more be found;
26Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound
27My echoing song; then worms shall try
28That long-preserved virginity,
29And your quaint honour turn to dust,
30And into ashes all my lust;
31The grave’s a fine and private place,
32But none, I think, do there embrace.
33 Now therefore, while the youthful hue
34Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
35And while thy willing soul transpires
36At every pore with instant fires,
37Now let us sport us while we may,
38And now, like amorous birds of prey,
39Rather at once our time devour
40Than languish in his slow-chapped power.
41Let us roll all our strength and all
42Our sweetness up into one ball,
43And tear our pleasures with rough strife
44Through the iron gates of life:
45Thus, though we cannot make our sun
46Stand still, yet we will make him run.
1Had we but world enough and time,
2This coyness, lady, were no crime.
3We would sit down, and think which way
4To walk, and pass our long love’s day.
5Thou by the Indian Ganges’ side
6Shouldst rubies find; I by the tide
7Of Humber would complain. I would
8Love you ten years before the flood,
9And you should, if you please, refuse
10Till the conversion of the Jews.
11My vegetable love should grow
12Vaster than empires and more slow;
13An hundred years should go to praise
14Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze;
15Two hundred to adore each breast,
16But thirty thousand to the rest;
17An age at least to every part,
18And the last age should show your heart.
19For, lady, you deserve this state,
20Nor would I love at lower rate.
21 But at my back I always hear
22Time’s wingèd chariot hurrying near;
23And yonder all before us lie
24Deserts of vast eternity.
25Thy beauty shall no more be found;
26Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound
27My echoing song; then worms shall try
28That long-preserved virginity,
29And your quaint honour turn to dust,
30And into ashes all my lust;
31The grave’s a fine and private place,
32But none, I think, do there embrace.
33 Now therefore, while the youthful hue
34Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
35And while thy willing soul transpires
36At every pore with instant fires,
37Now let us sport us while we may,
38And now, like amorous birds of prey,
39Rather at once our time devour
40Than languish in his slow-chapped power.
41Let us roll all our strength and all
42Our sweetness up into one ball,
43And tear our pleasures with rough strife
44Through the iron gates of life:
45Thus, though we cannot make our sun
46Stand still, yet we will make him run.
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 love’s day.
Thou by the Indian Ganges’ side
Shouldst 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 than 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
Time’s wingèd chariot 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 echoing song;
then worms shall try
That long-preserved 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 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,
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
Through the iron gates of life:
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.
Select any word below to get its definition in the context of the poem. The words are listed in the order in which they appear in the poem.
"To His Coy Mistress" read by Tom Hiddleston — The full text of "To His Coy Mistress" read by Tom Hiddleston.
Arts & Ideas: "To His Coy Mistress" — An episode of BBC Radio 3's podcast Arts & Ideas dedicated to "To His Coy Mistress."
An Early Manuscript Copy of "To His Coy Mistress" — Images of an early manuscript copy of "To His Coy Mistress" from the British Library.
Metaphysical Poetry — A brief guide to metaphysical poetry from the Poetry Foundation, with links to the work of other metaphysical poets and an extended essay on metaphysical poetry by Stephanie Burt.
Allen Ginsberg on "To His Coy Mistress" — Twentieth century beat poet Allen Ginsberg lectures on "To His Coy Mistress."