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| GET up, get up for shame! The blooming morn | |
| Upon her wings presents the god unshorn. | |
| See how Aurora throws her fair | |
| Fresh-quilted colours through the air: | |
| Get up, sweet slug-a-bed, and see | 5 |
| The dew-bespangling herb and tree! | |
| Each flower has wept and bow’d 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, | 10 |
| And sung their thankful hymns, ’tis sin, | |
| Nay, profanation, to keep in, | |
| Whenas a thousand virgins on this day | |
| Spring, sooner than the lark, to fetch in May. | |
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| Rise, and put on your foliage, and be seen | 15 |
| To come forth, like the spring-time, fresh and green, | |
| And sweet as Flora. Take no care | |
| For jewels for your gown or hair: | |
| Fear not; the leaves will strew | |
| Gems in abundance upon you: | 20 |
| Besides, the childhood of the day has kept, | |
| Against you come, some orient pearls unwept. | |
| Come, and receive them while the light | |
| Hangs on the dew-locks of the night, | |
| And Titan on the eastern hill | 25 |
| Retires himself, or else stands still | |
| Till 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, mark | |
| How each field turns a street, each street a park, | 30 |
| Made green and trimm’d with trees! see how | |
| Devotion gives each house a bough | |
| Or branch! each porch, each door, ere this, | |
| An ark, a tabernacle is, | |
| Made up of white-thorn neatly interwove, | 35 |
| As if here were those cooler shades of love. | |
| Can such delights be in the street | |
| And open fields, and we not see ’t? | |
| Come, we’ll abroad: and let’s obey | |
| The proclamation made for May, | 40 |
| 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 come | 45 |
| Back, and with white-thorn laden home. | |
| Some have dispatch’d their cakes and cream, | |
| Before that we have left to dream: | |
| And some have wept and woo’d, and plighted troth, | |
| And chose their priest, ere we can cast off sloth: | 50 |
| Many a green-gown has been given, | |
| Many a kiss, both odd and even: | |
| Many a glance, too, has been sent | |
| From out the eye, love’s firmament: | |
| Many a jest told of the keys betraying | 55 |
| This night, and locks pick’d: 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 die | |
| Before we know our liberty. | 60 |
| Our life is short, and our days run | |
| As fast away as does the sun. | |
| And, as a vapour or a drop of rain, | |
| Once lost, can ne’er be found again, | |
| So when or you or I are made | 65 |
| A fable, song, or fleeting shade, | |
| All love, all liking, all delight | |
| Lies drowned with us in endless night. | |
| Then, while time serves, and we are but decaying, | |
| Come, my Corinna, come, let’s go a-Maying. | 70 |
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