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Against diseases here the strongest fence is the defensive vertue, Abstinence.

Robert Herrick

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Robert Herrick
Age: 83 †
Born: 1591
Born: August 24
Died: 1674
Died: October 12
Poet
Writer
London
England
Defensive
Diseases
Fence
Strongest
Sex
Disease
Abstinence

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None pities him that is in the snare, who warned before, would not beware.
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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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The first act's doubtful, but we say, it is the last commends the play.
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Necessity makes dastards valiant men.
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Men are suspicious prone to discontent: Subjects still loathe the present Government.
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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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Humble we must be, if to heaven we go High is the roof there, but the gate is low.
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O thou, the drink of gods and angels! Wine
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Thus times do shift, each thing his turn does hold New things succeed, as former things grow old.
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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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A spark neglected makes a mighty fire.
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That age is best which is the first When youth and blood are warmer.
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Those Saints, which God loves best, The Devil tempts not least.
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So when or you or I are made A fable, song, or fleeting shade All love, all liking, all delight Lies drowned with us in endless night. Then while time serves, and we are but decaying Come, my Corinna, come, let's go a Maying.
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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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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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When the artless doctor sees No one hope, but of his fees, And his skill runs on the lees Sweet Spirit, comfort me! When his potion and his pill, Has, or none, or little skill, Meet for nothing, but to kill Sweet Spirit, comfort me!
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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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What is a kiss? Why this, as some approve: the sure, sweet cement, glue, and lime of love.
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