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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

More quotes by Robert Herrick

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Then be not coy, but use your time And while ye may, go marry: For having lost but once your prime, You may for ever tarry.
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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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Seldom comes Glory till a man be dead.
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When one is past, another care we have Thus woe succeeds a woe, as wave a wave.
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Hast thou attempted greatnesse? Then go on Back-turning slackens resolution.
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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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Men are suspicious prone to discontent: Subjects still loathe the present Government.
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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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Give house-room to the best 'tis never known Verture and pleasure both to dwell in one.
Robert Herrick
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In sober mornings do not thou rehearse The holy incantation of a verse
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You say to me-wards your affection's strong Pray love me little, so you love me long.
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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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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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Praise they that will times past, I joy to see My selfe now live: this age best pleaseth mee.
Robert Herrick
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Tears are the noble language of the eye.
Robert Herrick
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Cherry-ripe, ripe, ripe, I cry, Full and fair ones come and buy. If so be you ask me where They do grow, I answer: There, Where my Julia's lips do smile There's the land, or cherry-isle, Whose plantations fully show All the year where cherries grow.
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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.
Robert Herrick
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Next, when I cast mine eyes and see That brave vibration each way free, O how that glittering taketh me!
Robert Herrick