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
Giving
Whose
Compose
Drink
Crown
Hands
Crowns
Around
Unto
Give
Cups
May
Flowers
Firsts
Flower
Garlands
First
Glory
Pole

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Bid me to love, and I will give a loving heart to thee.
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Those Saints, which God loves best, The Devil tempts not least.
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Art quickens nature care will make a face Neglected beauty perisheth apace.
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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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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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When words we want, love teacheth to indite And what we blush to speak, she bids us write.
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Who covets more is evermore a slave.
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None pities him that is in the snare, who warned before, would not beware.
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Outdid the meat, outdid the frolic wine.
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The body is the soul's poor house or home, whose ribs the laths are and whose flesh the loam.
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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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A spark neglected makes a mighty fire.
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Each must in virtue strive for to excel That man lives twice that lives the first life well.
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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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Like will to like, each creature loves his kind.
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In the hour of my distress, When temptations me oppress, And when I my sins confess, Sweet Spirit, comfort me.
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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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Well I sup and well I dine, When I drink my frolic wine.
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If little labour, little are our gains: Man's fortunes are according to his pains.
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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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