- Title: To His Coy Mistress
- Writer: Butter Band
- Producer/Engineer: Conrad Askland
- Released: 1999
- Album: Butter Band – Feast of Lupercalia
- Label: Road Records
- Copyright: c 1999 Butter Band
- Style: Funk, Poetry, Blues, Comedy, Novelty
Play Audio or Download MP3:
To His Coy Mistress – Butter Band – Feast of Lupercalia
LYRICS – TO HIS COY MISTRESS
(NOTE: This is the BUTTER BAND version of “To His Coy Mistress”, which has some interruptions and lyric changes. For the original poem by Andrew Marvell please scroll further down this page)
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.
Oh yes, my vegetable love should grow
Vaster than empires, much harder and slow
And it began like this
I was reflecting into my bowl of soup
At Roxy’s on the corner of Eighth Avenue
Home of the world’s greatest cheesecake
When I was suddenly overtaken by an urge
To find the world’s greatest martini
After a few hours of bewilderment
I decided to sit in the chair of contemplation
And upon contemplating I was suddenly enlightened
By the chair next to me
Why search the world over
When I had already made the world’s greatest martini
An hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze;
Two hundred to adore each breast,
Oh yes…
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,
I think of you and gently master****
But at my back I always hear
Time’s winged chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
Oh yes, deserts of vast virginity
Now before there was Valentine’s Day
There was the Feast of Lupercalia
The good old days in Rome
When we would drink heavily of the finest wine
Occasionally sacrificing a dog or goat
In the evening we would chase naked virgins through the streets
Whipping them for being inconveniently pure
Ah – Old-fashioned romance: The Feast of Lupercalia
Thy beauty shall no more be found,
Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound
My echoing song; then worms shall try
That long preserv’d 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,
The grave’s a fine and private place,
But none I think do there embrace.
We were sitting at Domingo’s with my girlfriend
Witchcraft was on Karaoke
Larry lit a blue blazer
What a sight – Oh what a sight…
Now let us sport us while we may;
And now, like am’rous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour,
Than languish in his slow-chapp’d power.
Let us roll all our strength, and all
Our sweetness,
Up unto my balls
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.
Oh yes, we will make it run…
TO HIS COY MISTRESS – ORIGINAL POEM
By 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 winged 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 preserv’d 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 am’rous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour,
Than languish in his slow-chapp’d power.
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.
**************************
More politically incorrect interruptions from the Butter Band. I like this piece because it reminds of jokes in junior high. Like the little giggles and snickers during sex education class.
And if you listen at the end of this track you’ll hear the “hidden track” from the album where I talk with the lead singer in recording studio. The idea “borrowed” from a PDQ Bach album where it starts with him saying “Ok, now you’ll erase this right? It won’t be on the album right?” and the engineer replies “No problem”.
The original title of this track on the CD was not “To His Coy Mistress” – but I titled it that to make it easier to categorize and search on this website.
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