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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.

Robert Herrick

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Robert Herrick
Age: 83 †
Born: 1591
Born: August 24
Died: 1674
Died: October 12
Poet
Writer
London
England
Bees
Brave
Seek
Eyes
Eye
Bonnet
Away
Bonnets
Find
Bore
Love
Bores

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Happy is the bride that the sun shines on.
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In sober mornings do not thou rehearse The holy incantation of a verse
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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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Fight thou with shafts of silver, and o'ercome When no force else can get the masterdom
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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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What is a kiss? Why this, as some approve: the sure, sweet cement, glue, and lime of love.
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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.
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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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Tears are the noble language of the eye.
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Gather ye rosebuds, while ye may.
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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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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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Each must in virtue strive for to excel That man lives twice that lives the first life well.
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Temptations hurt not, though they have accesse Satan o'ercomes none but by willingnesse.
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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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T is the will that makes the action good or ill.
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Men are suspicious prone to discontent: Subjects still loathe the present Government.
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Go to your banquet then, but use delight So as to rise still with an appetite.
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Whatever comes, let's be content withal: Among God's blessings there is no one small.
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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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