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ENG LYRIC POETRY.pdf - STIBA Malang

ENG LYRIC POETRY.pdf - STIBA Malang

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ANDREW MARVELL<br />

In fact, “To his Coy Mistress” has been so often celebrated for its combination<br />

of smooth surface and logical rigor that it is easy to forget that it differs from its<br />

principal Catullan prototype in English, Jonson’s “Song to Celia,” primarily<br />

because of the grand scale on which wooing is imagined. Only a single additional<br />

syllable per line distinguishes Marvell’s sinewy octosyllabics from Jonson’s<br />

“beheaded” tetrameter, but space and time in “Coy Mistress” are matters of<br />

perspective, not meter, and, familiar as the beginning has become, Marvell’s<br />

casual assimilation of epic into lyric remains little short of breath-taking:<br />

Had we but World enough, and Time,<br />

This coyness Lady were no crime.<br />

We would sit down, and think which way<br />

To walk, and pass our long Loves Day.<br />

Thou by the Indian Ganges side<br />

Should’st Rubies find: I by the Tide<br />

Of Humber would complain.<br />

In Marvell’s playful reverie, there is no need to worry, as there is in Jonson, about<br />

fooling a few household spies. Domesticity has little place in an argument that<br />

moves from India to England, from the antediluvian to the end of time; and<br />

whereas Cowley will employ the familiar arithmetic-of-love in order to indicate<br />

how long he can survive on a sigh or a look in “My Dyet,”<br />

On a Sigh of Pity I a year can live,<br />

One Tear will keep me twenty at least,<br />

Fifty a gentle Look will give;<br />

An Hundred years on one kind word I’ll feast:<br />

A thousand more will added be,<br />

If you an Inclination have for me;<br />

And all beyond is vast Eternity,<br />

counting in “Coy Mistress,” with its languid pauses and quantum surges,<br />

expresses a connoisseur’s hunger. So close and yet so far, we might imagine<br />

Marvell saying of Cowley, as he works his way artfully across time’s horizon and<br />

then down the lady’s body:<br />

I would<br />

Love you ten years before the Flood:<br />

And you should if you please refuse<br />

Till the Conversion of the Jews.<br />

My vegetable Love should grow<br />

Vaster then Empires, and more slow.<br />

An hundred years should go to praise<br />

Thine Eyes, and on thy Forehead Gaze.<br />

262

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