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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,
For jewels for your gown or hair:
Gems in abundance upon you:
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.
Come, my Corinna, come! and coming, mark
Or branch: each porch, each door, ere this,
up of white-thorn neatly interwove, As if here were those cooler shades of love.
Can such delights be in the street
And sin no more, as we have done, by staying:
There's not a budding boy or girl, this day,
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 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 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,
GRACE FOR A CHILD
HERE, a little child, I stand,
For a benison to fall
On our meat and on our all. Amen.
Say how, or when,
Shall we thy guests
Meet at those lyric feasts
The Dog, the Triple Tun?
As made us nobly wild, not mad;
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.
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,
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.
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,
But though the whole world turn to coal,
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.