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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
Fence
Strongest
Sex
Disease
Abstinence
Defensive
Diseases

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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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Who covets more is evermore a slave.
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Some asked me where the rubies grew, And nothing I did say But with my finger pointed to The lips of Julia.
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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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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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Know when to speak - for many times it brings danger, to give the best advice to kings.
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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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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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Gather ye rosebuds, while ye may.
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Tears are the noble language of the eye.
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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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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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The person lives twice who lives the first life well
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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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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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Men are suspicious prone to discontent: Subjects still loathe the present Government.
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Hast thou attempted greatnesse? Then go on Back-turning slackens resolution.
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Conquer we shall, but, we must first contend! It's not the fight that crowns us, but the end.
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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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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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