Quotes from Robert Herrick

I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds, and bowers:Of April, May, of June, and July flowers.I sing of Maypoles, Hock-carts, wassails, wakes,Of bridegrooms, brides, and of their bridal cakes.

Outdid the meat, outdid the frolic wine.

A sweet disorder in the dressKindles in clothes a wantonness.

Here a little child I standHeaving up my either hand.Cold as paddocks though they be,Here I lift them up to Thee,For a benison to fallOn our meat, and on us all.

Fair daffodils, we weep to seeYou haste away so soon.

Who covets more, is evermore a slave.

Made us nobly wild, not mad.

Night makes no difference 'twixt the Priest and Clerk;Joan as my Lady is as good i' the dark.

You say to me-wards your affection's strong;Pray love me little, so you love me long.

Her eyes the glowworm lend thee,The shooting stars attend thee; And the elves also, Whose little eyes glowLike the sparks of fire, befriend thee.

Some asked me where the rubies grew, And nothing I did say; But with my finger pointed to The lips of Julia.

Bid me to live, and I will liveThy Protestant to be,Or bid me love, and I will giveA loving heart to thee.

Some asked how pearls did grow, and where?Then spoke I to my girlTo part her lips, and showed them thereThe quarelets of pearl.

Against diseases here the strongest fence Is the defensive vertue, abstinence.

I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds and bowers, Of April, May, of June, and July-flowers...

Whenas in silks my Julia goes,Then, then (methinks) how sweetly flowsThat liquefaction of her clothes.Next, when I cast mine eyes and seeThat brave vibration each way free;Oh how that glittering taketh me!

Lord, 'tis Thy plenty-dropping hand That soils my land, And giv'st me for my bushel sowne Twice ten for one. All this, and better, Thou dost send Me, to this end, That I should render, for my part, A thankful heart.

So when or you or I are madeA fable, song, or fleeting shade,All love, all liking, all delightLies drowned with us in endless night.

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, Old Times is still a-flying And this same flower that smiles today, Tomorrow will be dying.

Give me a kiss, and to that kiss a score Then to that twenty, add a hundred more A thousand to that hundred so kiss on, To make that thousand up a million. Treble that million, and when that is done, Let's kiss afresh, as when we first begun.

What is a kiss? Why this, as some approve: The sure, sweet cement, glue, and lime of love.

A spark neglected makes a mighty fire.

No pains. No gains

Thus times do shift, each thing his turn does hold; New things succeed, as former things grow old.