244 MUSIC OF THE GHOVE. 



Get up, get up for shame, the blooming morne 

 Upon her wings presents the god unshorne. 



See how Aurora throwes her faire 



Fresh quilted colours through the aire ; 



Get up, sweet slug-a-bed, and see 



The dew bespangling herbe and tree. 

 Each flower has wept, and bow'd toward the east, 

 Above an houre since, yet you not drest, 



Nay ! not so much as out of bed 



When all the birds have mattens seyd, 



And sung their thankfull hymnes ; 'tis sin, 



Nay, profanation to keep in, 

 When as a thousand virgins on this day 

 Spring, sooner than the lark, to fetch in May. 



Rise, and put on your foliage, and be scene 



To come forth, like the Spring-time, fresh and greene, 



And sweet as Flora. Take no care 



For jewels for your gowne or haire ; 



Feare not, the leaves will strew 



Gemms in abundance upon you ; 

 Besides, the childhood of the day has kept 

 Against you come,, some orient pearls unwept. 



Come r and receive them while the light 



Hangs on the dew-locks of the night ; 



And Titan on the eastern, hill 



Retires himselfe, or else stands still 

 Till you come forth. Wash, dresse, be briefe in praying ; 

 Few beads are best, when once we go a Maying. 



I am sure that I shall be excused for introduc- 

 ing the following pretty lines to " Primroses filled 

 with morning-dew/' 



Why doe ye weep sweet babes ? can teares 

 Speak griefe in you, 



