To Her False Lover

L. C. Russell writes,

This is a response to Andrew Marvell’s “To His Coy Mistress”, found here: http://www.luminarium.org/sevenlit/marvell/coy.htm

The poem will be familiar to the graduates of English lit. I also included one allusion to another E-lit author’s poem (read: stole good meter and rhyme) in each verse. The first one is easy, but I’ll give twinkie points to whoever can come up with the other two. I’m too lazy to point out all the delicate echoes and contrasts to the original poem. Besides, it would make reading it horribly dull. Enjoy!

Had you but truth enough, and spine,
These words, my suitor, were no crime
We would sit down, and think which way
To talk, and pass our long love’s day.
Thou by the honesty of thy words
Shouldst my love mine, I am assured
Though it’s been said, where words abound
Much sense beneath is rarely found.
But you should, if you wish, then construe
That what Pope says cannot be true
With words and wit, ‘till all do sleep
In a most attentive heap
A hundred snores shall be thy praise
From somnolent corpses in thy gaze;
Two hundred twitches for each line
Of sparkling charm and perfect rhyme;
An age at least to form each verse,
Thrusting forward logic’s hearse.
For, suitor, you deserve this fate
Nor could you write at slower rate.

But at my back I always hear
Truth’s winged chariot hurrying near;
Bidding me flee before your lies
Shall chance to take a captive mind.
Thy words shall no more be found
Nor thy rocky voice shall sound
Like a Siren’s whining wail
Bidding me come, and thee to hail.
Shall my honor turn to dust
Burnt to ashes by thy lust?
If thou doth love me, in truth adore,
Thou should love my honor more.

Now, therefore, while youthful lies
Sit on thy lips in sweet disguise,
And while thy spineless flesh transpires
At every pore with instant fires,
Thy words shall wither, soon forgotten,
In folly ripe, in reason rotten:
No more than a shepherd’s vow
With the strength of beauty’s power
Each shall change with equal weight
One to age, and one to hate.
Shall I suffer in pleasure’s strife
Through the vineyard of my life?
No, I shall not let thee come
Rather, I shall bid thee run.

Posted at 4:41 pm EST on the 1st of August 2008 by L. C. Russell.

Under Poetry as , ,

There are 6 replies.
 
  1. M. T. Petra says on August 1st, 2008 at 5:45 pm

    Very interesting. Am I incorrect in finding a similarity to Lovelace’s “To Lucasta on going to the wars”? “I could not love thee (Deare) so much, Lov’d I not Honour more.”

  2. L. C. Russell says on August 1st, 2008 at 5:49 pm

    MT gets a twinkie point! :D

  3. John R. Ahern says on August 1st, 2008 at 7:38 pm

    It’s sad how one has to jeopardize the past contrafactual construction for the sake of rhythm – “were” instead of “would be”. But if Marvell did it, I suppose it’s OK.

    Were you alluding to the Nymph’s Reply to the Shepherd by Raleigh at all, by any chance? I thought I saw strands of that here and there.

    Oh, and is the rhyme between “line” and “rhyme” in lines 15-16 intentional?

  4. L. C. Russell says on August 1st, 2008 at 8:37 pm

    Funny, I hadn’t noticed that, John.

    And you get a twinkie point too. Raleigh supplied the forgotten/rotten couplet in the third verse, with just a little tweaking. Y’all figured those out fast. *grins*

    Yes. The original two lines also rhymed–I kept the structure, although I couldn’t keep the sound.

  5. M. T. Petra says on August 2nd, 2008 at 11:44 pm

    Yay! Twinkie points! It’s been forever since I got some of those. =D And I only recognized that line because I LOVED “To Lucasta”, and especially that line.

  6. Cosmo says on August 29th, 2008 at 2:39 am

    Wow. You know, I guess I hadn’t read this with much attention before, because I’m very very impressed this time. That’s stronger than most anything I’ve ever done. Jealousy, man.