Corinna’s Going a-Maying
GET up, get up for shame! The blooming mornUpon her wings presents the god unshorn.See how Aurora throws her fairFresh-quilted colours through the air!Get up, sweet Slug-a-bed, and seeThe dew bespangling herb and tree.Each flower has wept, and bowed toward the east,Above an hour since; yet you not drest—Nay! not so much as out of bed,When all the birds have matins said,And sung their thankful hymns: ’tis sin,Nay, profanation, to keep in—Whenas a thousand virgins on this daySpring, sooner than the lark, to fetch in May.
Rise, and put on your foliage, and be seenTo come forth, like the Spring-time, fresh and green,And sweet as Flora. Take no careFor jewels for your gown or hair:Fear not; the leaves will strewGems in abundance upon you:Besides, the childhood of the day has kept,Against you come, some orient pearls unwept:Come, and receive them while the lightHangs on the dew-locks of the night:And Titan on the eastern hillRetires himself, or else stands stillTill you come forth. Wash, dress, be brief in praying:Few beads are best, when once we go a-Maying.
Come, my Corinna, come! and coming, markHow each field turns a street, each street a parkMade green, and trimmed with trees: see howDevotion gives each house a boughOr branch: each porch, each door, ere this,An ark, a tabernacle is,Made up of white-thorn neatly interwove,As if here were those cooler shades of love.Can such delights be in the streetAnd open fields, and we not see’t?Come, we’ll abroad: and let’s obeyThe proclamation made for May:And sin no more, as we have done, by staying:But, my Corinna, come! let’s go a-Maying.
There’s not a budding boy or girl, this day,But is got up, and gone to bring in May.A deal of youth, ere this, is comeBack, and with white-thorn laden home.Some have despatched their cakes and cream,Before that we have left to dream:And some have wept, and wooed, and plighted trothAnd chose their priest, ere we can cast off sloth:Many a green-gown has been given;Many a kiss, both odd and even:Many a glance, too, has been sentFrom out the eye, Love’s firmament:Many a jest told of the keys betrayingThis night, and locks picked:—Yet we’re not a-Maying.
Come! let us go, while we are in our prime,And take the harmless folly of the time!We shall grow old apace, and dieBefore we know our liberty.Our life is short; and our days runAs fast away as does the sun:And as a vapour, or a drop of rainOnce lost, can ne’er be found again;So when or you or I are madeA fable, song, or fleeting shade,All love, all liking, all delightLies drowned with us in endless night.Then while time serves, and we are but decaying,Come, my Corinna, come! let’s go a-Maying.