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Give me a kiss, and to that kiss a score: Then to that twenty, add a hundred more.

Robert Herrick

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Robert Herrick
Age: 83 †
Born: 1591
Born: August 24
Died: 1674
Died: October 12
Poet
Writer
London
England
Twenty
Twenties
Kissing
Hundred
Funny
Give
Score
Giving
Kiss
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A little saint best fits a little shrine, A little prop best fits a little vine, As my small cruse best fits my little wine.
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Hast thou attempted greatnesse? Then go on Back-turning slackens resolution.
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I dare not ask a kiss I dare not beg a smile Lest having that or this, I might grow proud the while. No, no, the utmost share Of my desire shall be Only to kiss that air, That lately kissed thee.
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Fight thou with shafts of silver, and o'ercome When no force else can get the masterdom
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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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Seldom comes Glory till a man be dead.
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Gather ye rosebuds, while ye may.
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Whatever comes, let's be content withal: Among God's blessings there is no one small.
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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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Bid me to live, and I will liveThy Protestant to be,Or bid me love, and I will giveA loving heart to thee.
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Tis not the food, but the content, That makes the table's merriment.
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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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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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Let wealth come in by comely thrift, And not by any sordid shift 'T is haste Makes waste Extremes have still their fault. Who gripes too hard the dry and slipp'ry sand, Holds none at all, or little, in his hand.
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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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But here's the sunset of a tedious day, These two asleep are I'll but be undrest, And so to bed. Pray wish us all good rest.
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O thou, the drink of gods and angels! Wine
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Tears are the noble language of the eye.
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For pitty, Sir, find out that Bee Which bore my Love away I'le seek him in your Bonnet brave, I'le seek him in your eyes.
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Art quickens nature care will make a face Neglected beauty perisheth apace.
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