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And fates not hope betray),
Which, only white, deserves
A diamond for ever should it mark:
This is the morn should bring into this grove
My Love, to hear and recompense my love.
Fair King, who all preserves,
But show thy blushing beams,
And thou two sweeter eyes
Shalt see than those which by Penéus' streams
Did once thy heart surprise :
Nay, suns, which shine as clear
As thou when two thou did to Rome appear.
Now, Flora, deck thyself in fairest guise :
If that ye winds would hear
A voice surpassing far Amphion's lyre,
Your stormy chiding stay;
Let zephyr only breathe
And with her tresses play,
Kissing sometimes these purple ports of death.
The winds all silent are;
And Phæbus in his chair
Ensaffroning sea and air
Makes vanish every star :
Night like a drunkard reels
Beyond the hills to shun his flaming wheels :
The fields with flowers are deck'd in every hue,
The clouds with orient gold spangle their blue :
Here is the place-
And nothing wanting is, save She, alas !
Drummond of Hawthornden.
PHYLLIDA. Corydon, arise, my Corydon !
Titan shineth clear.
CORYDON. Who is it that calleth Corydon ?
Who is it that I hear ?
Phyl. Phyllida, thy true love, calleth thee,
Arise then, arise then,
Arise and keep thy flock with me! Cor. Phyllida, my true love, is it she?
I come then, I come then,
I come and keep my flock with thee.
Phyl. Here are cherries ripe for my Corydon;
Eat them for
Cor. Here's my oaten pipe, my lovely one,
Sport for thee to make.
Phyl. Here are threads, my true love, fine as
To knit thee, to knit thee,
A pair of stockings white as milk.
Cor. Here are reeds, my true love, fine and neat,
To make thee, to make thee,
A bonnet to withstand the heat.
Phyl. I will gather flowers, my Corydon,
To set in thy cap.
Cor. I will gather pears, my lovely one,
To put in thy lap.
Phyl. I will buy my true love garters gay
For Sundays, for Sundays,
To wear about his legs so tall. COR. I will buy my true love yellow say,
For Sundays, for Sundays,
To wear about her middle small.
Phyl. When my Corydon sits on a hill
Making melodyCor. When my lovely one goes to her wheel,
Singing cheerilyPhyl. Sure methinks my true love doth excel
For sweetness, for sweetness,
Our Pan, that old Arcadian knight. Cor. And methinks my true love bears the
For clearness, for clearness,
Beyond the nymphs that be so bright.
Phyl. Had my Corydon, my Corydon,
Been, alack! her swain-
Cor. Had my lovely one, my lovely one,
Been in Ida plain-
Phyl. Cynthia Endymion had refused,
My Corydon to play withal.
Cor. The Queen of Love had been excused
My Phyllida the golden ball.
Phyl. Yonder comes my mother, Corydon,
Whither shall I fly?
Cor. Under yonder beech, my lovely one,
While she passeth by.
Phyl. Say to her thy true love was not here:
To-morrow is another day.
Cor. Doubt me not, my true love, do not fear;
Farewell then, farewell then !
Heaven keep our loves alway!
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 :
Get up, sweet slug-a-bed, and see
The dew-bespangled 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,
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
And sweet as Flora. Take no care
For jewels for your gown or hair :
Fear 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, 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,
and trimm'd with trees ! see how
Devotion gives each house a bough
Or branch! each porch, each door, ere this,
An ark, a tabernacle is,
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.