Yet can thy humble roof maintain a quire And the brisk mouse may feast herself with crumbs, Till that the green-eyed kitling comes; Then to her cabin bless'd she can escape The sudden danger of a rape. And thus thy little well kept stock doth prove Wealth cannot make a life, but love. Nor art thou so close-handed, but canst spend, As well as spare; still conning o'er this theme, But to live round, and close, and wisely true Elysium to thy wife and thee; There to disport yourselves with golden measure; But lost to one, be the' other's death; Till when, in such assurance live, ye may HERRICK. ODE TO MR. ANTHONY STAFFord. COME, spur away! I have no patience for a longer stay, But must go down And leave the changeable noise of this great town; I will the country see, Where old Simplicity, Than Foppery in plush and scarlet clad, Almost at civil war! [mad. 'Tis time that I grow wise when all the world grows More of my days I will not spend to gain an idiot's praise: Or to make sport For some slight puny of the inns of court. Then, worthy Stafford, say, How shall we spend the day, With what delights Shorten the nights, When from this tumult we are got secure? Where Mirth with all her freedom goes, [is pure. Where every word is thought, and every thought There, from the tree, We'll cherries pluck,and pick the strawberry; And every day Go see the wholesome country girls make hay; Whose brown has lovelier grace Than any painted face That I do know Hyde Park can show; Where I had rather gain a kiss than meet [Street. The beauties of the Cheap, and wives of Lombard But think upon Some other pleasures; these to me are none. Why do I prate Of women, that are things against my fate? That torture to my bed, My Muse is she My love shall be. Let clowns get wealth and heirs!—when I am gone, And the great bugbear, grisly Death, Shall take this idle breath, If I a poem leave, that poem is my son. Of this no more We'll rather taste the bright Pomona's store: No fruit shall scape Our palates, from the damson to the grape. Then full, we'll seek a shade, How Philomel Her tale doth tell, And how the other birds do fill the quire; The thrush and blackbird lend their throats, We will all sports enjoy, which others but desire. Ours is the sky, [fly. Where at what fowl we please our hawk shal! Nor will we spare To hunt the crafty fox or timorous hare; In any ground they'll choose: The stag and all: Our pleasures must from their own warrants be; Heaven,earth, are all but parts of her great royalty. And when we mean To taste of Bacchus' blessings now and then, And drink by stealth A cup or two to noble Barkley's health, Lets through his ears A madness to distemper all the brain. And Doric music make To civilize with graver notes our wits again. RANDOLPH. 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: The ceremony of going a Maying and the May festivities were once of great notoriety; though now almost in disuse, or but faintly shadowed in the lower orders of people: they were observed by royalty even. Stowe, quoting Hall, gives an account of Henry the Eighth's riding a Maying, with his queen, Catherine, to the high ground, on Shooter's Hill, accompanied by a train of the nobility. Get up, sweet slug-a-bed, and see The dew bespangling herb and tree: Each flower has wept, and bowed towards the east, Above an hour since; yet you not dress'd; Nay not so much as out of bed; When all the birds have mattins said, When as a thousand virgins on this day, Rise and put on your foliage, and be seen 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 How each field turns a street, each street a park Made green and trimmed with trees; see how Devotion gives each house a bough, Or branch; each porch, each door, ere this, An ark, a tabernacle is VOL. II. |