And sung their thankful hymns: 'tis sin, 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 Besides, the childhood of the day has kept, 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 Or branch: each porch, each door, ere this, Made up of white-thorn neatly interwove, And sin no more, as we have done, by staying: There's not a budding boy or girl, this day, Back, and with white-thorn laden home. Some have despatched their cakes and cream, And some have wept, and wooed, and plighted troth Many a green-gown has been given; 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 picked :-Yet we're not aMaying. 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 Our life is short; and our days run As fast away as does the sun : And as a vapour, or a drop of rain So when or you or I are made 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. GRACE FOR A CHILD HERE, a little child, I stand, For a benison to fall On our meat and on our all. Amen. BEN JONSON Aн, Ben! Say how, or when, Shall we thy guests Meet at those lyric feasts The Dog, the Triple Tun? Where we such clusters had As made us nobly wild, not mad; My Ben! Or come again Or send to us Thy wit's great over-plus; But teach us yet Wisely to husband it, Lest we that talent spend: And having once brought to an end That precious stock, the store Of such a wit, the world should have no more. GEORGE HERBERT 1593-1632 HOLY BAPTISM SINCE, Lord, to Thee A narrow way and little gate Is all the passage, on my infancy Thou didst lay hold, and antedate My faith in me. O, let me still Write Thee 'great God,' and me 'a child'; Let me be soft and supple to Thy will, Small to myself, to others mild, Behither ill. Although by stealth My flesh get on; yet let her sister, My soul, bid nothing but preserve her wealth The growth of flesh is but a blister; Childhood is health. VIRTUE SWEET day, so cool, so calm, so bright, Sweet rose, whose hue, angry and brave, Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, Thy root is ever in its grave, And thou must die. Sweet Spring, full of sweet days and roses, Only a sweet and virtuous soul, Like seasoned timber, never gives ; But though the whole world turn to coal, UNKINDNESS LORD, make me coy and tender to offend: Unto my friend's intent and end; I would not use a friend as I use Thee. If any touch my friend or his good name, From the least spot or thought of blame; I could not use a friend as I use Thee. My friend may spit upon my curious floor; Would he have gold? I lend it instantly; But let the poor, And Thee within them, starve at door; I cannot use a friend as I use Thee. When that my friend pretendeth to a place, I quit my interest, and leave it free; But when Thy grace Sues for my heart, I Thee displace; Nor would I use a friend as I use Thee. |