Littell's Living Age/Volume 138/Issue 1777/May

by Townshend Mayer

MAY.

Come, let us goe, while we are in our prime,
And take the harmlesse follie of the time.
Herrick. 

Spring's hands, in Shakespeare's words, you say,
⁠"Do paint the meadows with delight" —
I go where artist hands in May
⁠Hang paintings far more bright!

Though soft the twilight star that shines
⁠On grassy mead and limpid stream —
The stars I seek when day declines
⁠In Covent Garden beam!

Though sweet the thousand liquid notes
⁠Your feathered songsters warble here —
My birds of eve from tuneful throats
⁠Now utter notes more dear!

Farewell, ye streams, ye meads, ye flowers,
⁠Until your autumn robes ye wear —
Though May is fair in country bowers,
⁠'Tis fairest in Mayfair!

Spectator.Townshend Mayer.