Quote

A sweet disorder in the dress Kindles in clothes a wantonness A lawn about the shoulders thrown Into a fine distraction.

Robert Herrick

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Robert Herrick
Age: 83 †
Born: 1591
Born: August 24
Died: 1674
Died: October 12
Poet
Writer
London
England
Clothes
Kindles
Sweet
Lawns
Fine
Distraction
Disorder
Thrown
Dress
Wantonness
Shoulders
Cuffs
Dresses
Lawn

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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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Here a little child I stand, Heaving up my either hand Cold as paddocks though they be, Here I lift them up to Thee, for a benison to fall on our meat, and on us all. Amen.
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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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The person lives twice who lives the first life well
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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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In prayer the lips ne'er act the winning part, Without the sweet concurrence of the heart.
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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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The body is the soul's poor house or home, whose ribs the laths are and whose flesh the loam.
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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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Happy is the bride that the sun shines on.
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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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Like will to like, each creature loves his kind.
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In ways to greatness think on this, That slippery all ambition is
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Tears are the noble language of the eye.
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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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Against diseases here the strongest fence is the defensive vertue, Abstinence.
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O thou, the drink of gods and angels! Wine
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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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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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None pities him that is in the snare, who warned before, would not beware.
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