ROBERT HERRICK
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 seeV 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 Connna, come, let 's go a-Maymg.
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 dispatch'd their cakes and cream, Before that we have left to dream.
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 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
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.
green-gown] tumble on the grass.
�� �
