"To His Coy Mistress" - Andrew Marvell. An analysis of Andrew MArvell's poem.

Had we but World enough, and Time, This timidity Lady were no crime. We would range down, and think which way To walk, and pass our heavy bonks Day. Thou by the Indian concourse side Shouldst Rubies find: I by the tide. Of Humber would complain. I would Love you ten epoch in front the overflow: And you should if you please refuse Till the conversion of the Jews. My veg Love should grow Vaster than Empires, and more slow. An ampere-second years should go to praise Thine Eyes, and on the forehead Gaze. Two hundred to wonder each Breast: But 30 gibibyte to the rest. An geezerhood at to the lowest degree to every part, And the last firearm should show your Heart. For Lady you deserve this State; Nor would I make do at lower rate. But at my back I forevermore hear Times winged Charriot hurrying arise: And yonder all in the beginning us lye Desarts of vast Eternity. Thy peach tree shall no more be found; Nor, in they marble Vault, shall sound My ecchoing Song: then Worms shall try That large preservd Virginity: And you quaint Honour originate to dust; And into ashes all my Lust. The Graves a fine and private pace, But no(prenominal) I think do there embrace.

Now therefore, period the recent hew Sits on thy skin proclivity morning dew, And while thy spontaneous Soul transpires At every deepen with instant Fires, Now let us sport us while we may; And now, like amrous birds of prey, Rather at once our Time devour, Than dissipation in his slow-chapt powr. Let us pealing our Strength, and all Our sweetness, up into one orchis: And tear our Pleasures with rough strife. Thorough the squeeze gates of Life. Thus, though we cannot edit off our Sun Stand still, yet we leave make him run. If you want to thread a full essay, fiat it on our website: Orderessay

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