Robert Herrick (1591–1674)

GET up, get up, for shame; the blooming Morn

Upon her wings presents the god unshorn.

See how Aurora throws her fair

Fresh-quilted colors 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,

When as 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 gowne or haire;

Feare 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, dresse, be briefe 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 doore, ere this,

An ark, a tabernacle is,

Made up of white-thorn neatly interwove;

As if here were those cooler shades of love.

And sin no more, as we have done, by staying;

But, my Corinna, come, let’s go a-Maying.