(Portrait of Christopher Marlow, 1585, by
unknown artist)
One of the best-known pastoral poems in English is this proposal, filled with the most extravagant of promises.
THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE
Come live with me, and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
That hills and valleys, dale and field,
And all the craggy mountains yield.
There will we sit upon the rocks,
And see the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.
There I will make thee beds of roses
And a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle*
Embroider’d all with leaves of myrtle;
A gown made of the finest wool
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair linèd slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold;
A belt of straw and ivy buds,
With coral clasps and amber studs;
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me, and be my love.
Thy silver dishes for thy meat
As precious as the gods do eat,
Shall on an ivory table be
Prepared each day for thee and me.
The shepherd swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May-morning:
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me, and be my love.
~ Christopher Marlowe (1564-1593), English Elizabethan poet and dramatist
* kirtle – tunic-like woman's garment
The poem’s fame rests in part on the fact that so many poets have been tempted to write their own replies. The first was Sir Walter Raleigh. In his response, the proposal was clearly rejected, with no room left for discussion, as you can read below. (Other poets, like John Donne, C. Day Lewis, William Carlos Williams, Ogden Nash, W. D. Snodgrass, Douglas Crase, and Greg Delanty, have responded with a more bemused attitude.)
THE NYMPH’S REPLY TO THE SHEPHERD
If all the world and love were young,
And truth in every shepherd’s tongue,
These pretty pleasures might me move,
To live with thee and be thy love.
Time drives the flocks from field to fold,
When rivers rage and rocks grow cold;
And Philomel* becometh dumb;
The rest complains of cares to come.
The flowers do fade, and wanton fields
To wayward winter reckoning yields:
A honey tongue, a heart of gall,
Is fancy’s spring, but sorrow’s fall.
The gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses,
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies
Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten, —
In folly ripe, in reason rotten.
Thy belt of straw and ivy buds,
Thy coral clasps and amber studs,
All these in me no means can move
To come to thee and be thy love.
But could youth last, and love still breed,
Had joys no date nor age no need,
Then these delights my mind might move
To live with thee and be thy love.
~Sir Walter Raleigh (1552?-1618), English Elizabethan courtier, explorer, writer, and poet
* Philomel – stringed musical instrument resembling a violin
