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Home  »  The English Poets  »  Corinna’s Going a Maying

Thomas Humphry Ward, ed. The English Poets. 1880–1918.rnVol. II. The Seventeenth Century: Ben Jonson to Dryden

Robert Herrick (1591–1674)

Corinna’s Going a Maying

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

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,

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.

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 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:

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.