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

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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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Seldom comes Glory till a man be dead.
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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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The person lives twice who lives the first life well
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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.
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A spark neglected makes a mighty fire.
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If little labour, little are our gains: Man's fortunes are according to his pains.
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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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Each must in virtue strive for to excel That man lives twice that lives the first life well.
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That age is best which is the first When youth and blood are warmer.
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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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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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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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Men are suspicious prone to discontent: Subjects still loathe the present Government.
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Who covets more is evermore a slave.
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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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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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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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When words we want, love teacheth to indite And what we blush to speak, she bids us write.
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He who has suffered shipwreck, fears to sail Upon the seas, though with a gentle gale.
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