"The Poet's Corner..."

The Truth About Sir Walter Raleigh and "The Passionate Sheppard..."?

White Crane Institute

Legendary English writer, poet, courtier and explorer. He was responsible for establishing the second English colony in the New World (after Newfoundland was established by Sir Humphrey Gilbert nearly one year previously, August 5 1583), on June 4, 1584, at Roanoke Island in present-day North Carolina. When the third attempt at settlement failed, the ultimate fate of the colonists was never authoritatively ascertained, and it became known as "The Lost Colony."

The question for us here, though, is this: Were Sir Walter Raleigh and Christopher Marlowe lovers?

Don’t laugh. It is possible, especially when so little is known about both. For many years, this provocative possibility has been suggested, even though it is based entirely on speculation. Marlowe wrote a poem titled, “The Passionate Shepherd to His Love,” which begins with the charming and famous invitation “Come live with me and be my love.” A twin poem, “The Nymph’s Reply to The Shepherd,” appeared shortly thereafter, and there is little doubt that it was written by Raleigh out of love for Marlowe. The response, of course, is typically coy (Well, no, what do you think I am, but of course you know I mean yes when I say no, and you aren’t really thinking of taking my virginity with that big thing, are you, you beast, but if you don’t I’ll die, etc.).

It’s probably one of the best No-but-I-really- mean-Yes poems in the language, at least until it was answered by Marvell in “To His Coy Mistress”: Look, if you don’t screw now, when are you going to do it? In the grave? So shut up and put out! — Hooray for Marvell.

Christopher Marlowe

“The Passionate Shepherd to His Love “ 

Christopher Marlowe

1599

Come live with me and be my love, 

And we will all the pleasures prove 

That valleys, groves, hills, and fields, 

Woods, or steepy mountain yields. 

And we will sit upon rocks, 

Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks, 

By shallow rivers to whose falls 

Melodious birds sing madrigals. 

And I will make thee beds of roses 

And a thousand fragrant poises, 

A cap of flowers, and a kirtle 

Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle; 

A gown made of the finest wool 

Which from our pretty lambs we pull; 

Fair lined 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. 

The shepherds' s 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. 

Sir Walter Raleigh

“The Nymph’s Reply to The Shepherd”

Sir Walter Raleigh

1599 

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. 

"To His Coy Mistress"

Andrew Marvell

Had we but world enough and time, 

This coyness, lady, were no crime. 

We would sit down, and think which way 

To walk, and pass our long love’s day. 

Thou by the Indian Ganges’ side 

Shouldst rubies find; I by the tide 

Of Humber would complain. I would 

Love you ten years before the flood, 

And you should, if you please, refuse 

Till the conversion of the Jews. 

My vegetable love should grow 

Vaster than empires and more slow; 

An hundred years should go to praise 

Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze; 

Two hundred to adore each breast, 

But thirty thousand to the rest; 

An age at least to every part, 

And the last age should show your heart. 

For, lady, you deserve this state, 

Nor would I love at lower rate. 

But at my back I always hear 

Time’s wingèd chariot hurrying near; 

And yonder all before us lie 

Deserts of vast eternity. 

Thy beauty shall no more be found; 

Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound 

My echoing song; then worms shall try 

That long-preserved virginity, 

And your quaint honour turn to dust, 

And into ashes all my lust; 

The grave’s a fine and private place, 

But none, I think, do there embrace. 

Now therefore, while the youthful hue 

Sits on thy skin like morning dew, 

And while thy willing soul transpires 

At every pore with instant fires, 

Now let us sport us while we may, 

And now, like amorous birds of prey, 

Rather at once our time devour 

Than languish in his slow-chapped power. 

Let us roll all our strength and all 

Our sweetness up into one ball, 

And tear our pleasures with rough strife 

Through the iron gates of life: 

Thus, though we cannot make our sun 

Stand still, yet we will make him run.