Andrew Marvell was born on the 31st of March, 1621, in Yorkshire. In September of 1624, when he was three years old, his family moved to Hull, one of the most important ports in northern England. He lived in Hull for seventeen years. He spent five years developing poetry skills in university at Trinity College, Cambridge. After increasing violence led to a civil war, Marvell spent the next four years and his limited resources “pass[ing] four years in Holland, France, Italy, and Spain ‘to very good purpose, as I beleeve & the gaining of those 4 languages’” (“Marvell”).

In 1659, Marvell was elected to Parliament to represent Hull. His beliefs were described as follows:

The safest reading of his politics in the 1650s is probably that he was prepared to accept any government that would operate within a constitutional framework, and that his admiration of Cromwell was conditional on his remaining ‘still in the Republick’s hand’ (“Marvell.”)

Andrew Marvell passed in 1678. While mourning her loss, his wife Mary Marvell went through her husband’s remaining drafts, and in 1680 sent them to be published with the following message: “Printed according to the exact Copies of my late dear Husband, under his own Hand-Writing” (“Marvell”). Robert Boulter, publisher of Milton’s Paradise Lost, was a good friend of Marvell and published his posthumous works in 1681.“To His Coy Mistress” was included in this edition and it has since s inspired writers with its powerful verse, prompting allusions in works by Terry Pratchett and Stephen King, among others (“To His Coy Mistress”).  He kept governing bodies accountable, even if it meant getting in a few fights with his opponents. He often employed his honed poetry skills despite the possibility of “a threat made against his life if he should publish any further ‘Lie or Libel’ against his opponent.” However, “the verdict of contemporaries was that the ‘victory lay on Marvell’s side.” His scathing commentary was so enjoyable that “we still read Marvel’s Answer to Parker with Pleasure” (“Marvell”).

Had we but World enough, and Time^[1],

This coyness Lady were no crime.

We would sit down, and think which way

To walk, and pass our long Loves Day.

Thou by the Indian Ganges side

Should’st Rubies find: I by the Tide

Of Humber would complain^[2]. 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^[3]

Vaster then 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 alwaies hear

Times winged Charriot hurrying near:

And yonder all before us lye

Desarts of vast Eternity.

Thy Beauty shall no more be found;

Nor, in thy marble Vault, shall sound

My ecchoing Song: then Worms shall try

That long preserv’d Virginity:

And your quaint Honour turn to durst:

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 hew

Sits on thy skin like morning grew,

And while thy willing Soul transpires

At every pore with instant Fires,

Now let us sport us while we may;

And now, like am’rous birds of prey,

Rather at once our Time dev out,

Than languish in his slow chapt pow’r.

Let us roll all our Strength, and all

Our sweetness, up into one Ball

And tear our Pleasures with rough strife,

Thorough the Iron gates of Life.

Thus, though we cannot make our Sun

Stand still, yet we will make him run^[4].