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Drink wine, and live here blitheful while ye may The morrow's life too late is live to-day.

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
Morrow
Wine
Late
Drink
May
Live

More quotes by Robert Herrick

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O thou, the drink of gods and angels! Wine
Robert Herrick
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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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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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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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You say to me-wards your affection's strong Pray love me little, so you love me long.
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What though the sea be calm? trust to the shore, Ships have been drown'd, where late they danc'd before.
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In sober mornings do not thou rehearse The holy incantation of a verse
Robert Herrick
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Necessity makes dastards valiant men.
Robert Herrick
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Men are suspicious prone to discontent: Subjects still loathe the present Government.
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.
Robert Herrick
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Each must in virtue strive for to excel That man lives twice that lives the first life well.
Robert Herrick
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Art quickens nature care will make a face Neglected beauty perisheth apace.
Robert Herrick
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Those Saints, which God loves best, The Devil tempts not least.
Robert Herrick
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Seldom comes Glory till a man be dead.
Robert Herrick
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When one is past, another care we have Thus woe succeeds a woe, as wave a wave.
Robert Herrick
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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.
Robert Herrick
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Outdid the meat, outdid the frolic wine.
Robert Herrick
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No, not Jove Himselfe, at one time, can be wise and love.
Robert Herrick
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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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None pities him that is in the snare, who warned before, would not beware.
Robert Herrick