CORINNA'S GOING A-MAYING. 1 Get up, get up for shame; the blooming morn The dew bespangling herb and tree: When all the birds have matins said, And sung their thankful hymns; 'tis sin, When as a thousand virgins on this day, 2 Rise and put on your foliage, and be seen Besides, the childhood of the day has kept, 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! 3 Come, my Corinna, come; and, coming, mark How each field turns a street, each street a park Made green, and trimm'd with trees; see how Or branch; each porch, each door, ere this Made up of whitethorn newly interwove, And open fields, and we not see 't? And sin no more, as we have done, by staying; 4 There's not a budding boy or girl this day Back, and with whitethorn laden home: And some have wept, and woo'd, and plighted troth, Many a green gown has been given; Many a kiss, both odd and even; From out the eye, love's firmament; Many a jest told of the key's betraying This night, and locks pick'd; yet we 're not a-Maying! 5 Come, let us go, while we are in our prime, And, as a vapour, or a drop of rain, Lies drown'd with us in endless night. Then, while time serves, and we are but decaying, Come, my Corinna, come, let's go a-Maying! Of all the maiden train! we come, 2 Thus, thus, and thus we compass round And other flowers lay upon The altar of our love, thy stone. 3 Thou wonder of all maids! list here, And all sweet meads, from whence we get 4 Too soon, too dear did Jephthah buy, His was the bond and cov'nant; yet Thou paid'st the debt, Lamented maid! He won the day, 5 Thy father brought with him along And, in the purchase of our peace, 6 For which obedient zeal of thine, And fresh thy hearse-cloth, we will here Four times bestrew thee every year. 7 Receive, for this thy praise, our tears; Receive this offering of our hairs; Receive these crystal vials, fill'd With tears distill'd From teeming eyes; to these we bring, Each maid, her silver filleting, 8 To gild thy tomb; besides, these cauls, When we conduct her to her groom: 9 No more, no more, since thou art dead, Shall we e'er bring coy brides to bed; No more at yearly festivals We cowslip balls Or chains of columbines shall make 10 No, no; our maiden pleasures be One seed of life left, 'tis to keep grave, 11 Sleep in thy peace, thy bed of spice, And make this place all paradise: May sweets grow here! and smoke from hence Let balm and cassia send their scent 12 May no wolf howl or screech-owl stir A wing upon thy sepulchre! No boisterous winds or storms To starve or wither Thy soft, sweet earth! but, like a spring, 13 May all thy maids, at wonted hours, Come forth to strew thy tomb with flowers: Upon thine altar! then return And leave thee sleeping in thy urn. |