To Julia In Shooting Togs

and a Herrickose vein.     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.     Enlarged by the bellying breeze,     Lord! how they playfully do ease     The urgent knocking of her knees!     Lengthways curtailed 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 diversin.     For very awe, if so she shoots,     My hair upriseth from the roots,     And lo! I tremble in my boots!