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In prayer the lips ne'er act the winning part, Without the sweet concurrence of the heart.

Robert Herrick

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Robert Herrick
Age: 83 †
Born: 1591
Born: August 24
Died: 1674
Died: October 12
Poet
Writer
London
England
Winning
Part
Without
Heart
Concurrence
Lips
Sweet
Prayer

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Happy is the bride that the sun shines on.
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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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Humble we must be, if to heaven we go High is the roof there, but the gate is low.
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I dare not ask a kiss I dare not beg a smile Lest having that or this, I might grow proud the while. No, no, the utmost share Of my desire shall be Only to kiss that air, That lately kissed thee.
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Outdid the meat, outdid the frolic wine.
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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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Know when to speak - for many times it brings danger, to give the best advice to kings.
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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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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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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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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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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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Seldom comes Glory till a man be dead.
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Hast thou attempted greatnesse? Then go on Back-turning slackens resolution.
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No, not Jove Himselfe, at one time, can be wise and love.
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For pitty, Sir, find out that Bee Which bore my Love away I'le seek him in your Bonnet brave, I'le seek him in your eyes.
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Necessity makes dastards valiant men.
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Bid me to love, and I will give a 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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In sober mornings do not thou rehearse The holy incantation of a verse
Robert Herrick