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Tears are the noble language of the eye.

Robert Herrick

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Robert Herrick
Age: 83 †
Born: 1591
Born: August 24
Died: 1674
Died: October 12
Poet
Writer
London
England
Noble
Tears
Eye
Language

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None pities him that is in the snare, who warned before, would not beware.
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Tis hard to find God, but to comprehend Him, as He is, is labour without end.
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In ways to greatness think on this, That slippery all ambition is
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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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Art quickens nature care will make a face Neglected beauty perisheth apace.
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Outdid the meat, outdid the frolic wine.
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In sober mornings do not thou rehearse The holy incantation of a verse
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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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Know when to speak - for many times it brings danger, to give the best advice to kings.
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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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O thou, the drink of gods and angels! Wine
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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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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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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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Those Saints, which God loves best, The Devil tempts not least.
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Who covets more is evermore a slave.
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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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Against diseases here the strongest fence is the defensive vertue, Abstinence.
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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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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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