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If little labour, little are our gains: Man's fortunes are according to his pains.

Robert Herrick

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Robert Herrick
Age: 83 †
Born: 1591
Born: August 24
Died: 1674
Died: October 12
Poet
Writer
London
England
Men
Pains
Labour
According
Gains
Fortune
Pain
Littles
Little
Fortunes

More quotes by Robert Herrick

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Who covets more is evermore a slave.
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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.
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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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Give house-room to the best 'tis never known Verture and pleasure both to dwell in one.
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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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Thus times do shift, each thing his turn does hold New things succeed, as former things grow old.
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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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The first act's doubtful, but we say, it is the last commends the play.
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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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Those Saints, which God loves best, The Devil tempts not least.
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Temptations hurt not, though they have accesse Satan o'ercomes none but by willingnesse.
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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.
Robert Herrick
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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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Fight thou with shafts of silver, and o'ercome When no force else can get the masterdom
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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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Well I sup and well I dine, When I drink my frolic wine.
Robert Herrick
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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.
Robert Herrick
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Tears are the noble language of the eye.
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Learn this of me, where'er thy lot doth fall, Short lot, or not, to be content with all.
Robert Herrick
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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.
Robert Herrick