Forbear censure, gentle readers and kind hearers, for quotations from poets, they have made the day especially their own; they are its annalists. A poet’s invitation to his mistress to enjoy the festivity, is historical; if he says to her, “together let us range,” he tells her for what; and becomes a grave authority to the grave antiquary. The sweetest of all British bards that sing of our customs, beautifully illustrates the May-day of England:—
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 matteyns seyd,
And sung their thankfull hymnes; ’tis sin,
Nay, profanation to keep in,
When as a thousand virgins on this day,
Spring sooner then the lark, to fetch in May.
Rise, and put on your foliage, and be seene
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, 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 brief in praying;
Few beads are best, when once we goe a Maying.
Come, my Corinna, come; and, comming, marke
How each field turns a street, each street a parke
Made green, and trimm’d with trees; see how
Devotion gives each house a bough,
Or branch; each porch, each doore, ere this,
An arke, 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 obay
The proclamation made for May:
And sin no more, as we have done, by staying
But, my Corinna, come, let’s goe a Maying.
There’s not a budding boy or girle, this day,
But is got up, and gone to bring in May.
A deale of youth, ere this, is come
Back, and with white-thorn laden home.
Some have dispatcht their cakes and creame
Before that we have left to dreame;
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 kisse, both odde and even;
Many a glance, too, has been sent
From out the eye, love’s firmament;
Many a jest told of the keye’s betraying
This night, and locks pickt; yet w’are not a Maying.
Come, let us goe, while we are in our prime
And take the harmlesse follie of the time.
We shall grow old apace and die
Before we know our liberty.
Our life is short, and our dayes run
As fast away as do’s the sunne;
And as a vapour, or a drop of raine
Once lost, can ne’r be found againe;
So when or you or I are made
A fable, song, or fleeting shade;
All love, all liking, all delight
Lies drown’d with us in endless night.
Then, while time serves, and we are but decaying,
Come, my Corinna, come, let’s goe a Maying.
Herrick.
A gatherer of notices respecting our pastimes says, “The after-part of May-day is chiefly spent in dancing round a tall Poll, which is called a May Poll; which being placed in a convenient part of the village, stands there, as it were consecrated to the Goddess of Flowers, without the least violation offer’d to it, in the whole circle of the year.”[121] One who was an implacable enemy to popular sports relates the fetching in of “the May” from the woods. “But,” says he, “their cheefest jewell they bring from thence is their Maie poole, whiche they. bring home with greate veneration, as thus. They have twentie or fourtie yoke of oxen, every oxe havyng a sweete nosegaie of flowers tyed on the tippe of his hornes, and these oxen drawe home this Maie poole, which is covered all over with flowers and hearbes, bounde rounde aboute with stringes, from the top to the bottome, and sometyme painted with variable colours, with twoo or three hundred men, women, and children followyng it, with greate devotion. And thus beyng reared up, with handkerchiefes and flagges streamyng on the toppe, they strawe the grounde aboute, binde greene boughes about it, sett up Sommer haules, Bowers, and Arbours hard by it. And then fall they to banquet and feast, to leape and daunce aboute it, as the Heathen people did at the dedication of their Idolles, whereof this is a perfect patterne, or rather the thyng itself.”[122]
The May-pole is up,
Now give me the cup;
I’ll drink to the garlands around it;
But first unto those
Whose hands did compose
The glory of flowers that crown’d it.
Herrick.