Quote

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

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Robert Herrick
Age: 83 †
Born: 1591
Born: August 24
Died: 1674
Died: October 12
Poet
Writer
London
England
May
Flowers
Firsts
Flower
Garlands
First
Glory
Pole
Giving
Whose
Compose
Drink
Crown
Hands
Crowns
Around
Unto
Give
Cups

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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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Those Saints, which God loves best, The Devil tempts not least.
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Tears are the noble language of the eye.
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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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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.
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No, not Jove Himselfe, at one time, can be wise and love.
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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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Temptations hurt not, though they have accesse Satan o'ercomes none but by willingnesse.
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The person lives twice who lives the first life well
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Praise they that will times past, I joy to see My selfe now live: this age best pleaseth mee.
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The first act's doubtful, but we say, it is the last commends the play.
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T is the will that makes the action good or ill.
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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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Humble we must be, if to heaven we go High is the roof there, but the gate is low.
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When words we want, love teacheth to indite And what we blush to speak, she bids us write.
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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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Well I sup and well I dine, When I drink my frolic wine.
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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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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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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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