27 Reading: Herrick Herrick The Vine I dream’d this mortal part of mine Was Metamorphoz'd to a Vine; Which crawling one and every way, Enthrall'd my dainty Lucia. Me thought, her long small legs & thighs I with my Tendrils did surprize; Her Belly, Buttocks, and her Waste By my soft Nerv'lits were embrac'd: About her head I writhing hung, And with rich clusters (hid among The leaves) her temples I behung: So that my Lucia seem'd to me Young Bacchus ravished by his tree. My curles about her neck did craule, And armes and hands they did enthrall: So that she could not freely stir, (All parts there made one prisoner.) But when I crept with leaves to hide Those parts, which maids keep unespy'd, Such fleeting pleasures there I took, That with the fancie I awook; And found (Ah me!) this flesh of mine More like a Stock then like a Vine. Delight in Disorder A SWEET disorder in the dress Kindles in clothes a wantonness : A lawn about the shoulders thrown Into a fine distraction : An erring lace which here and there Enthrals the crimson stomacher : A cuff neglectful, and thereby Ribbons to flow confusedly : A winning wave (deserving note) In the tempestuous petticoat : A careless shoe-string, in whose tie I see a wild civility : Do more bewitch me than when art Is too precise in every part. Corrina’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 :        Get up, sweet slug-a-bed, and see        The dew bespangling herb and tree. Each flower has wept and bow'd toward the east Above an hour since : yet you not dress'd ;        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, Whereas 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 green,        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        Made green 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. 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 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 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 drowned with us in endless night. Then while time serves, and we are but decaying, Come, my Corinna, come, let's go a-Maying.