VIII. TO JULIA IN SHOOTING TOGS

Whenas to shoot my Julia goes,

Then, then, ( methinks ) how bravely shows

That rare arrangement of her clothes!

So shod as when the Huntress Maid

With thumping buskin bruised the glade,

She moveth, making earth afraid.

Against the sting of random chaff

Her leathern gaiters circle half

The arduous crescent of her calf.

Unto th’ occasion timely fit,

My love's attire doth show her wit,

And of her legs a little bit.

Sorely it sticketh in my throat,

She having nowhere to bestow't,

To name the absent petticoat.

In lieu whereof a wanton pair

Of knickerbockers she doth wear,

Full windy and with space to spare.

Enlargéd by the bellying breeze,

Lord! how they playfully do ease

The urgent knocking of her knees!

Lengthways curtailéd to her taste

A tunic circumvents her waist,

And soothly it is passing chaste.

Upon her head she hath a gear

Even such as wights of ruddy cheer

Do use in stalking of the deer.

Haply her truant tresses mock

Some coronal of shapelier block,

To wit, the bounding billy-cock.

Withal she hath a loaded gun,

Whereat the pheasants, as they run,

Do make a fair diversión.

For very awe, if so she shoots,

My hair upriseth from the roots,

And lo! I tremble in my boots!