Iff «0rim, to go a Ptjiitg. 
Herrick. 
QET up, get up for shame ! the blooming morn 
Upon her wings presents the god unshorn. 
See how Aurora throws her fair 
Fresh-quilted colors through the air ; 
Get up, sweet slug-a-bed, and see 
The dew bespangling herb and tree. 
Each flower has wept, and bowed toward the east, 
Above an hour since, yet you are 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, 
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; 
