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 the 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 posies,
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’ 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.
Esto decía el pastor apasionado a su amante. También lo dice el gato, invitándome al jardín, y se lo digo yo al verano, que mañana es la noche de San Juan.
Axé.
coldhearted scientist وداد 
Do you want to know what I love most about this poem? Okay, I’m going to tell you anyway. By the way the title is “The Passionate Shepherd to His Love” (1600), you make us work for our bread around here don’t you. LOL! Anyway, I love how Sir Walter Raleigh took on the role of the Nymph (the “His Love” in Marlowe’s poem) and wrote a reply entitled “The Nymph’s Rely to the Shepherd” (1600). I used this technique once in my school’s newspaper in protest. Two girls wrote a lame ass poem to this boy, we were all English majors and published it. It was an embarrassing day to be a woman, the way they threw themselves all over him. We all had classes together, he was not all of that. Last I heard he was peddling real estate. So I wrote a poem from his point of view basically thanking them for doing all the work and helping me (him) secure my entitlement. It was published in the next edition. There were no more responses. Perhaps the allusion was too subtle. Goes to show that not everyone in college was as serious with their English major as I had thought. Oh well I did have fun and another student I showed the joke to got a good laugh at their expense too. He was such a conceited loser I swear.
The Nymph’s Reply to the Shepherd
by Sir Walter Raleigh
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.
Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses,
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies
Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten—
In folly ripe, in season 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.
Must be poetry night. Check out this one. :^)
Oh yeah! Gracias you two! I think there are also modern parodies and responses to the Marlowe poem – things about come live with me in my garret, and stuff like that – I need to find them. And: everybody’s got to go read Philp (link in the Changeseeker’s comment, above) – instantly!
Here’s one – but there are also 20th century ones, I am sure:
John Donne – The Bait
Come live with me, and be my love,
And we will some new pleasures prove
Of golden sands, and crystal brooks,
With silken lines, and silver hooks.
There will the river whispering run
Warm’d by thy eyes, more than the sun;
And there the ‘enamour’d fish will stay,
Begging themselves they may betray.
When thou wilt swim in that live bath,
Each fish, which every channel hath,
Will amorously to thee swim,
Gladder to catch thee, than thou him.
If thou, to be so seen, be’st loth,
By sun or moon, thou dark’nest both,
And if myself have leave to see,
I need not their light having thee.
Let others freeze with angling reeds,
And cut their legs with shells and weeds,
Or treacherously poor fish beset,
With strangling snare, or windowy net.
Let coarse bold hands from slimy nest
The bedded fish in banks out-wrest;
Or curious traitors, sleeve-silk flies,
Bewitch poor fishes’ wand’ring eyes.
For thee, thou need’st no such deceit,
For thou thyself art thine own bait:
That fish, that is not catch’d thereby,
Alas, is wiser far than I.
It all starts with Catullus 5 (Vivamus, mea Lesbia, atque amemus [Let us live, my Lesbia, and also love]), but the one I was thinking of is by Cecil Day-Lewis, Daniel’s father:
Come, live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
Of peace and plenty, bed and board,
That chance employment may afford.
I’ll handle dainties on the docks
And thou shalt read of summer frocks:
At evening by the sour canals
We’ll hope to hear some madrigals.
Care on thy maiden brow shall put
A wreath of wrinkles, and thy foot
Be shod with pain: not silken dress
But toil shall tire thy loveliness.
Hunger shall make thy modest zone
And cheat fond death of all but bone –
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me and be my love.
Thanks for taking us back. Might be a good challenge to join in these gentlemen’s fun and beckon someone to “come be my love.”
And, Geoffrey’s poem hits the spot, don’t it?
Geoffrey’s is still the best. And all of these earlier poems are so much more direct and simple than anything I can get out of these postmodern people I know. Or – Americans with complexes. Anyway, now I am fascinated with these invitations and refusals, and I’ve found Jethro Tull’s “Velvet Green” which interweaves the invitation and the reasons to desist:
Walking on velvet green. Scots pine growing.
Isn’t it rare to be taking the air, singing.
Walking on velvet green.
Walking on velvet green. Distant cows lowing.
Never a care: with your legs in the air, loving.
Walking on velvet green.
Won’t you have my company, yes, take it in your hands.
Go down on velvet green, with a country man.
Who’s a young girls fancy and an old maid’s dream.
Tell your mother that you walked all night on velvet green.
One dusky half-hour’s ride up to the north.
There lies your reputation and all that you’re worth.
Where the scent of wild roses turns the milk to cream.
Tell your mother that you walked all night on velvet green.
And the long grass blows in the evening cool.
And August’s rare delight may be April’s fool.
But think not of that, my love,
I’m tight against the seam.
And I’m growing up to meet you down on velvet green.
Now I may tell you that it’s love and not just lust.
And if we live the lie, let’s lie in trust.
On golden daffodils, to catch the silver stream
that washes out the wild oat seed on velvet green.
We’ll dream as lovers under the stars —
of civilizations raging afar.
And the ragged dawn breaks on your battle scars.
As you walk home cold and alone upon velvet green.
Walking on velvet green. Scots pine growing.
Isn’t it rare to be taking the air, singing.
Walking on velvet green.
Walking on velvet green. Distant cows lowing.
Never a care: with your legs in the air, loving.
Walking on velvet green.
A performance of the song:
Excellent. The cat would say something like this:
And we will sit under the house,
Smelling the possums, catching the mouse,
By shallow ditches to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.
I need to modify it, feline-ify and swamp-ify it, yet more.
Ha! I remember the time a possum invaded my house and my cat was completely indifferent. I assumed it was because they were buddies from the garden.
Yes – cats seem to be friends with possums but I cannot abide them. I refuse to eat them. I tell them: leave my yard! Do not make me put out moth balls!
The cat would also say:
And you will dig out beds of roses
Plant a thousand fragrant posies,
Prune the branches, pull the weeds,
And I will chase the trailing leaves, helping.
Love the cat.