TO HIS COY MISTRESS

Andrew Marvell, England (1621-1678)

• Marvell didn't become very popular until T. S. Eliot wrote an essay praising him for his ability to shift between high seriousness and humour. This poem was first published after Marvell's death, by his housekeeper.
• To His Coy Mistress is divided into three stanzas. A narrator is an anonymous man speaking to an anonymous woman.  

1. In the first stanza, the narrator tells the mistress—not a woman on the side but simply a lady—that if they had had more time and space, her "coyness" or teasing/shyness wouldn't be an issue. He goes on to describe how much he would compliment and admire her if time permitted. He would focus on every inch of her body until he got to the heart—(a metaphor for her sex organ and love.)
2. In the second stanza, the narrator basically tells her, “But we don't have time and we're about to get old and die.” He says that life is short but death is eternal and time is running out. In addition, the speaker warns the woman that when she’s buried in her coffin, the worms will take her virginity if she doesn't have sex with him before they die. And, if she refuses to sleep with him, all his sexual desire will burn up into ashes for all time.
3. In the third stanza, the speaker begs the lady to have sex with him while they are still young. He points out a pair of birds mating and suggests that it is how their lovemaking should be—raw, passionate, and primal (central/fundamental).
4. In the final couplet, the narrator says that they can’t make time stop, but they can exchange places with it. According to him, whenever have sex, they pursue time, instead of the other way around. Thus, sex makes the day more pleasurable and it makes the day go by much faster.

Summary:

The poem is spoken by a male lover to his female beloved in an attempt to convince her to sleep with him. The speaker argues that the Lady’s shyness and hesitancy would be acceptable if the two had “world enough, and time.” But because they are finite human beings, he thinks they should take advantage of their sensual embodiment while it lasts. He tells the lady that her beauty, as well as her “long-preserved virginity,” will only become food for worms unless she gives herself to him while she lives. Rather than preserve any lofty ideals of chastity and virtue, the speaker confirms, the lovers ought to “roll all our strength, and all / Our sweetness, up into one ball.” He is alluding (mentioning) to their physical bodies coming together in the act of lovemaking.

During the first stanza, the speaker tells the mistress that if they had more time and space, her "coyness" wouldn't be a "crime." He extends this discussion by describing how much he would compliment her and admire her if only there was time. He would focus on "each part" of her body until he got to the heart ("heart," here, is both a metaphor for sex and a metaphor for love). The speaker uses the metaphor of “vegetable love” to suggest slow and steady growth. This would allow him to praise his lady’s features – eyes, forehead, breasts, and heart – in increments (growths) of hundreds and even thousands of years, which he says that the lady clearly deserves due to her superior stature (height). He assures the lady that he would never value her at a “lower rate” than she deserves.

In the second stanza he says, "BUT," we don’t have the time, we are about to die! He tells her that life is short, but death is forever. The poem’s mood shifts in line 21, when the speaker asserts that “Time's winged chariot” is always near. In a shocking moment, he warns her that, when she’s in the coffin, worms will try to take her "virginity" if she doesn't have sex with him before they die. Once dead, he assures the Lady, her virtues and her beauty will lie in the grave along with her body as it turns to dust. If she refuses to have sex with him, there will be repercussions for him, too. All his sexual desire will burn up, "ashes" for all time. The speaker imagines his lust being reduced to ashes, while the chance for the two lovers to join sexually will be lost forever.

In the third stanza, he says, "NOW," I've told you what will happen when you die, so let’s have sex while we’re still young. Hey, look at those "birds of prey" mating. That’s how we should do it – but, before that, let’s have us a little wine and time. The speaker of the poem compares the Lady’s skin to a vibrant layer of morning dew that is animated by the fires of her soul and encourages her to “sport” with him. Time devours all things, the speaker acknowledges, but he nonetheless asserts that the two of them can, in fact, turn the tables on time. They can become “amorous birds of prey” that actively consume the time they have through passionate lovemaking. Then, he wants to play a game – they turn ourselves into a "ball" game. He suggests, furthermore, that they release all their pent-up (repressed) frustrations into the sex act, and, in this way, be free.

In the final couplet (a stanza consisting of two successive lines of verse; usually rhymed), he calms down a little. He says that having sex can’t make the "sun" stop moving. In Marvell’s time, the movement of the sun around the earth (we now believe the earth rotates around the sun) is thought to create time. Anyway, he says, we can’t make time stop, but we can change places with it. Whenever we have sex, we pursue (engage) time, instead of time pursuing us. 

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.