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Who covets more is evermore a slave.

Robert Herrick

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Robert Herrick
Age: 83 †
Born: 1591
Born: August 24
Died: 1674
Died: October 12
Poet
Writer
London
England
Covets
Evermore
Covetousness
Greed
Slave

More quotes by Robert Herrick

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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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No, not Jove Himselfe, at one time, can be wise and love.
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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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The first act's doubtful, but we say, it is the last commends the play.
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Drink wine, and live here blitheful while ye may The morrow's life too late is live to-day.
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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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In ways to greatness think on this, That slippery all ambition is
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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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Know when to speak - for many times it brings danger, to give the best advice to kings.
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Whatever comes, let's be content withal: Among God's blessings there is no one small.
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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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Things are evermore sincere / Candor here, and lustre there / Delighting.
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Next, when I cast mine eyes and see That brave vibration each way free, O how that glittering taketh me!
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If little labour, little are our gains: Man's fortunes are according to his pains.
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Necessity makes dastards valiant men.
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Give me a kiss, and to that kiss a score: Then to that twenty, add a hundred more.
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And as this round (ring) is nowhere found to flaw, or else to sever. So let our love as endless prove and pure as gold forever.
Robert Herrick
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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.
Robert Herrick