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

Robert Herrick

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Robert Herrick
Age: 83 †
Born: 1591
Born: August 24
Died: 1674
Died: October 12
Poet
Writer
London
England
Life
Affection
Pray
Praying
Strong
Littles
Little
Long
Love
Wards

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Go to your banquet then, but use delight So as to rise still with an appetite.
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No, not Jove Himselfe, at one time, can be wise and love.
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Well I sup and well I dine, When I drink my frolic wine.
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Tears are the noble language of the eye.
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Who covets more is evermore a slave.
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A winning wave, (deserving note.) In the tempestuous petticote, A careless shoe-string, in whose tye I see a wilde civility,-- Doe more bewitch me than when art Is too precise in every part.
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A sweet disorder in the dress Kindles in clothes a wantonness A lawn about the shoulders thrown Into a fine distraction.
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Here a little child I stand, Heaving up my either hand Cold as paddocks though they be, Here I lift them up to Thee, for a benison to fall on our meat, and on us all. Amen.
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Happy is the bride that the sun shines on.
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In prayer the lips ne'er act the winning part, Without the sweet concurrence of the heart.
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Feed him ye must, whose food fills you. And that this pleasure is like raine, Not sent ye for to drowne your paine, But for to make it spring againe.
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Learn this of me, where'er thy lot doth fall, Short lot, or not, to be content with all.
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The May-pole is up, Now give me the cup I'll drink to the garlands around it But first unto those Whose hands did compose The glory of flowers that crown'd it.
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Praise they that will times past, I joy to see My selfe now live: this age best pleaseth mee.
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What is a kiss? Why this, as some approve: the sure, sweet cement, glue, and lime of love.
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The first act's doubtful, but we say, it is the last commends the play.
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Oft have I heard both youths and virgins say, Birds chuse their mates and couple too this day: But by their flight I never can devine When I shall couple with my valentine.
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O thou, the drink of gods and angels! Wine
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When words we want, love teacheth to indite And what we blush to speak, she bids us write.
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A spark neglected makes a mighty fire.
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