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Humble we must be, if to heaven we go High is the roof there, but the gate is low.
Robert Herrick
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Robert Herrick
Age: 83 †
Born: 1591
Born: August 24
Died: 1674
Died: October 12
Poet
Writer
London
England
Heaven
Must
Gate
Roof
Gates
Lows
Humble
High
More quotes by Robert Herrick
Next, when I cast mine eyes and see That brave vibration each way free, O how that glittering taketh me!
Robert Herrick
That age is best which is the first When youth and blood are warmer.
Robert Herrick
O thou, the drink of gods and angels! Wine
Robert Herrick
Outdid the meat, outdid the frolic 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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What though the sea be calm? trust to the shore, Ships have been drown'd, where late they danc'd before.
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Each must in virtue strive for to excel That man lives twice that lives the first life well.
Robert Herrick
Thus times do shift, each thing his turn does hold New things succeed, as former things grow old.
Robert Herrick
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.
Robert Herrick
Praise they that will times past, I joy to see My selfe now live: this age best pleaseth mee.
Robert Herrick
Give house-room to the best 'tis never known Verture and pleasure both to dwell in one.
Robert Herrick
He who has suffered shipwreck, fears to sail Upon the seas, though with a gentle gale.
Robert Herrick
But here's the sunset of a tedious day, These two asleep are I'll but be undrest, And so to bed. Pray wish us all good rest.
Robert Herrick
Fight thou with shafts of silver, and o'ercome When no force else can get the masterdom
Robert Herrick
Tis hard to find God, but to comprehend Him, as He is, is labour without end.
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The person lives twice who lives the first life well
Robert Herrick
Like will to like, each creature loves his kind.
Robert Herrick
If little labour, little are our gains: Man's fortunes are according to his pains.
Robert Herrick
None pities him that is in the snare, who warned before, would not beware.
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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.
Robert Herrick