A Collection of Poems on Various Subjects :: :: University of Virginia Library

Floralia:

Or, an Account of the Rise of May-games, and May-poles.

When Rome was wholly Pagan, long before
The Virgin's Womb our blessed Saviour bore,
There liv'd in Rome a most lascivious Dame,
A noted Hailot, Flora was her Name,
Who prostituting of herself for Hire,
Great Wealth did, with great Infamy, acquire.

This filthy Strumpet, when she came to die,
Bequeath'd her Treasures to Rome's Treasury;
For, she her Heir, the Roman People made,
Of what she got by her venereal Trade;
And that her Memory might still abide
Among them, by her Will she did provide,
That on her Birth-day, certain wanton Games
Should celebrated be by Roman Dames,
Which that they might not for the Charge decline,
Part of her Wealth she thereto did assign.

So large a Legacy (however got)
The Roman Senate thought deserved not
To be contemn'd: Yet, that the filthy Stain,
Of her lewd Life, might not too long remain
A Blemish on them; they a Way contrive,
The Whore to bury, Flora keep alive,
Her they a Goddess feign; whom deify'd,
They make o'er Fruits and Flowers to preside;
To her they Altars raise, and by Decree
Appoint the Rites of her Solemnity.

The common People, in next Age adore
Her, whom their Fathers knew to be a Whore,
And, drench'd in superstitious Darkness, fear
They neither Flowers nor Fruits should have that Year,
If they to keep her Festivals forbear.

Yet 'cause the better Part did still retain
A Sense, how she her Goddeship did gain,
Such as had due Regard unto their Honour,
Would rather venture that, than wait upon her;
But all the Strumpets of the Town, and such
As had of Fame or Modesty not much,

Unto her Altars flock'd, and danc'd the Round,
Some naked, some in party-colours Gown,
Having their Heads with flow'ry Garlands crown'd.

Nor spar'd they Wine, but in full Bowls did quaff,
And at each others antick Gestures laugh;
The Rein was quite let loose, and they were best
Accounted of, could break the rudest Jest.

Torches were us'd, to intimate that Night
Had been the Time of Flora's chief Delight;
And to denote how lustful she had been,
The Goat and Hare in these her Games were seen:
Thus did they Yearly celebrate her Day,
Upon the Calends of the Month call'd May.

Thus 'twas, while heath'nish Superstition reign'd,
Before the Gospel Light Dominion gain'd
O'er Pagan Darkness; but when once the Day,
Th' illustrious Day of Christ broke forth, away
These filthy Vapours roll'd: The Gospel Light,
From Christian Hearts dispell'd this Darkness quite;
Nor can the Patrons of these May-games now,
Of such lewd Pastimes any Footsteps show,

Amongst the antient Christians, e'en in Rome,
From whence those Pagan Rites at first did come.

But after that, thro' Satan's Wiles, ill Men
From Truth to Error had relaps'd again,
After the Power of Godliness was lost,
And formal Christians of more Form did boast,
When Christian Rome was three times worse become
In some Respects, than had been heathen Rome;
Then to debauch the Nations, up were brought
Some Pagan Rites, condemn'd of old as nought,
'Mongst these the May-games, with such Variation,
As suited best the Humour of each Nation:
How in this Island they were us'd of old,
Is that which in the next Place shall be told.

On Flora's Birth-day, a long Pole they raise
In Market-places, or in parting Ways,
A painted Pole, whereon there hang, display'd,
Fine Garlands of the choicest Flow'rs made,
On Top of which a Weathercock is set,
Emblem of those who do such Sports abet.

Unto this Pole, the looser Class resort,
And spend their Time in time-mispending Sports;

The Fiddle or the Bag-pipe calls them forth,
And they come foremost, who are of least Worth;
Here Old and Young, of either Sex do meet,
And with obscene Discourse each other greet;
About the Tree, they in Disorder dance,
As Children on their Hobby-horses prance;
Confusedly they intermix in Routs,
And drown the Fiddle with their deaf'ning Shouts:
One breaks a bawdy Jest, wherein doth follow,
From all the Rabble, an applauding Hollow;
With Scoffs, Derisions, Jeers, they entertain
Each other, and whatever's loose and vain;
And who most archly can the Mimick play,
Is sure, for Praise, to bear the Bell away.

The Liberty, which at such Times they use,
With Scoffs and Jokes the Passers-by t' abuse,
Hath pass'd into a Proverb, that 'tis said,
Of such an one they a meer May-game made;
For in these Revel-routs, they countenance
Whatever tends Prophaness to advance.
Nor are these dry Feasts; Flora doth pretend
To guard the Vine, and Store of Barley send,
And therefore sure, her Votaries will not fail,
To steep their Brains that Day in Wine or Ale;

In brimful Bowls, or Glasses, then they bouse,
And Healths on bare and bended Knees carouse;
The Health they drink, perhaps of some great Lord,
Who's well-grown Woods their May-pole did afford,
Who's Honour, doubtless, would have risen higher,
Had he bestow'd it on the Poor for Fire.

Patrons of May-poles, if they please may see,
The Original of this their Vanity;
Yea all, the Rise of May-games may behold,
Who for them are so strenuous and bold:
'Tis Flora's Feast, a Strumpet void of Shame,
The Institution from the Romans came,
But they were Heathen; What is that to we,
Who boast a nobler Birth, a higher Pedigree?
Oh Britons! give your Views a higher Aim;
Nor slur with Pagan Rites the Christian Name.