To His Coy Miss Had we but all the world, and time, These coy ways, Miss, would be no crime. We would sit down and think which way To walk and pass our long love's day. Thou by the East Ind stream's bank-side Shouldst find red gems: I by the tide Near York would moan of love. I would Love you ten years ere came the Flood, You should say "No," if you should please, Till Jews to Christ go on their knees. My love like an old herb should grow To some great state, and still more slow; Five score of years should go to praise Thine eyes and on thy brow should gaze; Twice that to dwell long on each breast; A Great Year's span to all the rest; An age at least to every part, And the last age should show your heart; For, Miss, you should be loved in state, Nor would I love at a fast rate. But at my back I seem to hear Time's wing'd and horse-drawn cart run near; And there in front of us lies this Dead plain of all the time there is. Thy good looks shall no more be found, Nor, in thy stone-carved tomb, shall sound My much-sung song: then worms shall raid That long-kept state which you call "maid," And your quaint good name turn to dust, And burn to ash shall all my lust: The grave's a fine and well-hid space, But no one screws in such a place. Now thus, while youth's first flush and hue Sits on thy skin like the dawn dew, And while thy soul now still wills forth These quick, hot fires through all thy pores, Let's fuck like minks while yet we may, And now, like lust-crazed birds of prey, Rip all at once to shreds this hour And not be gnawed in his slow power. Let us roll all our strength and all We have that's sweet up in a ball, And tear what comes from rough love strife Through these steel grates hedged round our life: Thus, though we can't make our old sun Stand still, yet we will make him run. -- Drew Marv.