Rise; and put on your foliage, and be seen 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: 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 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 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; 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: 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 Back, and with white-thorn laden home. Some have despatch'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: 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 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. 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 A fable, song, or fleeting shade; All love, all liking, all delight 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. _R. Herrick_ CXIX _THE POETRY OF DRESS_ I