Better Than Starbucks!

Corinna's going a Maying 

BY ROBERT HERRICK

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Get up, get up for shame, the Blooming Morne 
Upon her wings presents the god unshorne. 
                     See how Aurora throwes her faire 
                     Fresh-quilted colours through the aire: 
                     Get up, sweet-Slug-a-bed, and see 
                     The Dew-bespangling Herbe and Tree. 
Each Flower has wept, and bow'd toward the East, 
Above an houre since; yet you not drest, 
                     Nay! not so much as out of bed? 
                     When all the Birds have Mattens seyd, 
                     And sung their thankful Hymnes: '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 seene 
To come forth, like the Spring-time, fresh and greene; 
                     And sweet as Flora. Take no care 
                     For Jewels for your Gowne, or Haire: 
                     Feare not; the leaves will strew 
                     Gemms 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 himselfe, or else stands still 
Till you come forth. Wash, dresse, be briefe in praying: 
Few Beads are best, when once we goe a Maying. 

Come, my Corinna, come; and comming, marke 
How each field turns a street; each street a Parke 
                     Made green, and trimm'd with trees: see how 
                     Devotion gives each House a Bough, 
                     Or Branch: Each Porch, each doore, ere this, 
                     An Arke a Tabernacle is 
Made up of white-thorn neatly enterwove; 
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 obay 
                     The Proclamation made for May: 
And sin no more, as we have done, by staying; 
But my Corinna, come, let's goe a Maying. 

There's not a budding Boy, or Girle, this day, 
But is got up, and gone to bring in May. 
                     A deale of Youth, ere this, is come 
                     Back, and with White-thorn laden home. 
                     Some have dispatcht their Cakes and Creame, 
                     Before that we have left to dreame: 
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 kisse, both odde and even: 
                     Many a glance too has been sent 
                     From out the eye, Loves Firmament: 
Many a jest told of the Keyes betraying 
This night, and Locks pickt, yet w'are not a Maying. 

Come, let us goe, while we are in our prime; 
And take the harmlesse follie of the time. 
                     We shall grow old apace, and die 
                     Before we know our liberty. 
                     Our life is short; and our dayes run 
                     As fast away as do's the Sunne: 
And as a vapour, or a drop of raine 
Once lost, can ne'r be found againe: 
                     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 endlesse night. 
Then while time serves, and we are but decaying; 
Come, my Corinna, come, let's goe a Maying.
 

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