In the animal kingdom, attracting a mate is a matter of appearance, often involving elaborate dance-like rituals, or colorful and impressive displays of feathers, horns or fins. But we humans have developed our own methods, and while it may be fun to compare beautiful dresses with feathers or fins, and large hats with horns, the fact is that humans court each other with one thing that sets us apart from our beastly brethren– words.

Now while it's unclear what sort of conversation may have passed for flirting in the centuries BC, nowadays most people are familiar with the generic "Can I have your number? I've lost mine" and “How you doin'?” Yet as anyone knows who has either attempted such lines, or seen such lines attempted, they are the equivalent of puny plumage. Yet how best to strike upon a winning line? Centuries of besotted fools have beaten their heads against walls trying to come up with a magical phrase to lure the object of their desire into their embrace. In the modern days of texting, Facebook and Twitter, it seems our communication with each other comes in smaller and smaller segments, as we've moved from “Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, who is already sick and pale with grief, that thou, her maid, art far more fair than she” to “u + me = <3.” One can't help but feel that some part of Romance has died.

To whom can we turn to revive poor, embattled Romance? None other than poetry. Among poets, the award for most impressive pick-up line must go to the poet Andrew Marvell, whose 46-line poem “To His Coy Mistress” reads as the most elaborate pick-up attempt in history. The entire poem is an appeal to the speaker's shy, hesitant loved one to be more reasonable, not to put off his love but throw herself into it whole-heartedly. Why must she do this? Let us read and find out.

To begin, it's important to note that the speaker does not whine and blame his love for her coyness, but says forgivingly

Had we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, lady, were no crime.

He next lists what they might do if they were immortal, and had no fear of growing old or death. He presents a lovely picture of the two of them wandering the earth, gathering jewels and generally enjoying the scenery, and then professes to spend all that eternity praising her beauty.

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.

Who doesn't like the idea of someone adoring them for centuries on end? All this he does to explain what he would do if it were within his power. It's not laziness or personal fault that keeps him from adoring his mistress, but, in fact, Time.

But at my back I always hear
Time's winged chariot drawing near,
and yonder all before us lie
deserts of vast eternity.

As mortals, we only have a short time on this earth. In a very short time even her own “beauty shall no more be found”, and soon they will lie in graves, where the worms shall turn her “quaint honor into dust / and into ashes all my lust”– that is to say, it won't matter that she was chaste; the 'honor' she was saving as something highly prized is nothing more than dust, and even now his own passion cannot save her. The grave, he says, is a place of emptiness, in-action, absence of vitality and life.

A grim outlook indeed! How to escape such a horrible fate? Never fear– the speaker hastens to reassure his love.

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.

We are still beautiful, the speaker says, we are still young and full of vigor. Though the grave is in the future (as it is for everyone), they still have time now, right now, to make the most of what they have, and to enjoy life to its fullest. Rather than “languish” and worry about silly things like being lady-like or proper, she should join him and “devour” her time– enjoy it, revel in the freedom of youth and beauty.

Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.

Neither of the two lovers has the power to stop Time, but if they will only have the strength and passion to reach out and take their lives, live them as fully as possible, only then can they triumph, if only but a little, over the inescapable forces of Time.

Not bad for a pick-up line.
View the Full Poem