To his coin mistress, by Andrew Marvell, read for LibraVox.org, by Justin Brett. Had we but world enough, and time, this coin is lady with 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 should rub his fine, 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 faster than Empars, and more slow. A 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 times wing a 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 last. The graves are fine and private place, but now I think do their embrace. Now, therefore, while the youthful hues 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 the languishing 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 sons stand still, yet we will make him run. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain.