Made up of white-thorn, neatly interwove;
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 obey
The proclamation made for May:

And sin no more, as we have done, by staying;
But, my Corinna, come, let's go a-Maying.

There's not a budding boy or girl this day
But is got up, and gone to bring in May.
A deal of youth, ere this, is come

Back, and with white-thorn laden, home.
Some have despatch'd their cakes and cream
Before that we have left to dream:

And some have wept, and wooed, and plighted troth, And chose their priest, ere we can cast off sloth:

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 pick'd, yet we're not a-Maying.

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
Before we know our liberty.

Our life is short, and our days run
As fast away as does the sun;
And, as a vapour or a drop of rain,
Once lost, can ne'er be found again,
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 endless night.
Then while time serves, and we are but decaying,
Come, my Corinna, come let's go a-Maying.

UPON PREW HIS MAID

In this little urn is laid

Prewdence Baldwin, once my maid,
From whose happy spark here let
Spring the purple violet.

FRANCIS QUARLES [1592-1644]

AN ECSTASY

E'EN like two little bank-dividing brooks,

That wash the pebbles with their wanton streams, And having ranged and search'd a thousand nooks, Meet both at length in silver-breasted Thames, Where in a greater current they conjoin: So I my Best-beloved's am; so He is mine.

E'en so we met; and after long pursuit,
E'en so we joined; we both became entire;

No need for either to renew a suit,

For I was flax, and He was flames of fire: Our firm-united souls did more than twine; So I my Best-beloved's am; so He is mine.

If all those glittering monarchs, that command
The servile quarters of this earthly ball,
Should tender in exchange their shares of land,
I would not change my fortunes for them all:
Their wealth is but a counter to my coin:
The world's but theirs; but my Beloved's mine.

GEORGE HERBERT [1593-1633]

VIRTUE

SWEET day, so cool, so calm, so bright,
The bridal of the earth and sky!
The dew shall weep thy fall to-night;
For thou must die.

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,
A box where sweets compacted lic,
My music shows ye have your closes,
And all must die.

Only a sweet and virtuous soul,

Like seasoned timber, never gives; But though the whole world turn to coal, Then chiefly lives.

THE COLLAR

I STRUCK the board, and cry'd "No more! I will abroad.

What? shall I ever sigh and pine?

My lines and life are free; free as the road, Loose as the wind, as large as store.1

Shall I be still in suit?

Have I no harvest but a thorn

To let me blood, and not restore,

What I have lost, with cordial fruit?
Sure there was wine

1 abundance.

Before my sighs did dry it: there was corn
Before my tears did drown it.
Is the year only lost to me?
Have I no bays to crown it?
No flowers, no garlands gay? All blasted?
All wasted?

Not so, my heart! but there is fruit,
And thou hast hands.

Recover all thy sigh-blown age

On double pleasures. Leave thy cold dispute
Of what is fit and not. Forsake thy cage;
Thy rope of sands

Which petty thoughts have made, and made to thee
Good cable, to enforce and draw,
And be thy law,

While thou didst wink and wouldst not see.
Away! Take heed!

I will abroad.

Call in thy death's-head there. Tie up thy fears. He that forbears

To suit and serve his need

Deserves his load."

But as I raved, and grew more fierce and wild
At every word,

Methought I heard one calling, "Child."
And I reply'd, "My Lord."

THE QUIP

THE merry World did on a day
With his train-bands and mates agree
To meet together where I lay,
And all in sport to jeer at me.

First, Beauty crept into a rose;

Which when I pluckt not, "Sir,” said she, "Tell me, I pray, whose hands are those?" But Thou shalt answer, Lord, for me.

Then Money came, and chinking still,
"What tune is this, poor man?" said he:
"I heard in Music you had skill.”

But Thou shalt answer, Lord, for me.

Then came brave Glory puffing by
In silks that whistled, who but he!
He scarce allow'd me half an eye.
But Thou shalt answer, Lord, for me.

Then came quick Wit and Conversation,
And he would needs a comfort be,
And, to be short, make an oration.
But Thou shalt answer, Lord, for me.

Yet when the hour of Thy design
To answer these fine things shall come,
Speak not at large: say, “I am Thine;"
And then they have their answer home.

THE PULLEY

WHEN God at first made man,

Having a glass of Blessings standing by;
"Let us," said he, "pour on him all we can:
Let the world's riches, which dispersed lie,

Contract into a span.”

So Strength first made a way;

Then Beauty flow'd; then Wisdom, Honour, Pleasure. When almost all was out, God made a stay, Perceiving that alone, of all his treasure,

Rest in the bottom lay.

"For if I should," said he,

"Bestow this jewel also on my creature,
He would adore my gifts instead of me,
And rest in Nature, not the God of Nature;
So both should losers be.