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 bow'd toward the eastAbove an hour since: yet you not dress'd;Nay! not so much as out of bed?When all the birds have matins saidAnd sung their thankful hymns, 'tis sin,Nay, profanation to keep in,Whereas 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 trimm'd with trees: see howDevotion gives each house a boughOr branch: each porch, each door ere thisAn 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 dayBut 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 despatch'd their cakes and creamBefore 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: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 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 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 rain,Once 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.