Christoher Marlowe (1564-1593) was a great poet and playwright and could have been a greater rival to Shakespeare had he not been murdered in a brawl in a tavern in Deptford. I recently visited the churchyard off Deptford High Street where he is buried. His poem “The Passionate Shepherd to His Love” is perhaps best know for its first line “Come live with me and be my love.” How many must have said that to a potential lover, but how many have promised “beds of Roses/And a thousand fragrant posies/A cap of flowers, and a kirtle/Embroidered all with leaves of Myrtle.” The poem evokes perfectly the early days of love and has inspired many other poems, including by Walter Raleigh, John Donne, Izaak Walton, Robert Herrick, C Day Lewis, William Carlos Williams, Dorothy Parker, Ogden Nash, W D Snodgrass, Douglas Crase, and Greg Delanty.

Raleigh (1553-1618) combined comedy and tragedy to mock Marlowe’s poem by writing a reply from the shepherdess, who seems well used to hearing false words and empty promises from lusty shepherds. She knows too that the early days of love can soon fade: “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 reason rotten.”

Donne (1572-1631), one of the greatest of the Elizabethan poets, joined the fun by writing one of his twisting, complex, intriguing poems that are fun to try and unravel. https://richardswsmith.wordpress.com/2022/07/25/advice-on-living-from-the-greatest-english-poet-of-love-and-sex/ Donne was as interested in sex as love, as was probably Marlowe’s original shepherd, and. although Donne begins “Come live with me, and be my love/And we will some new pleasures prove,” he soon gets to sex (or at least that’s how I read this stanza: “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.”

Beautiful, lyrical, and enticing as it is, Marlowe’s great poem is easy to mock, and Ogden Nash (1902-1971) does so while simultaneously painting an attractive picture of 20th century love: “We’ll live in a dear little walk-up flat/With practically room to swing a cat/And a potted cactus to give it hauteur/And a bathtub equipped with dark brown water.”

The poems of Marlowe, Raleigh, Donne, and Nash are below. Together they make delightful reading.

The Passionate Shepherd to His Love by Christopher Marlowe

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.

The Nymph’s Reply to the Shepherd by 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 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.

The Baite by John Donne

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.

Hard Lines by Ogden Nash

Come live with me and be my love
And we will all the pleasures prove
Of a marriage conducted with economy
In the Twentieth Century Anno Donomy.
We’ll live in a dear little walk-up flat
With practically room to swing a cat
And a potted cactus to give it hauteur
And a bathtub equipped with dark brown water.
We’ll eat, without undue discouragement,
Foods low in cost but high in nouragement
And quaff with pleasure, while chatting wittily,
The peculiar wine of Little Italy.
We’ll remind each other it’s smart to be thrifty
And buy our clothes for something-fifty.
We’ll bus for miles on holidays
For seas at depressing matinees,
And every Sunday we’ll have a lark
And take a walk in Central Park.
And one of these days not too remote
You’ll probably up and cut my throat.