Quote

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

More quotes by Robert Herrick

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Those Saints, which God loves best, The Devil tempts not least.
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None pities him that is in the snare, who warned before, would not beware.
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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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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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Whatever comes, let's be content withal: Among God's blessings there is no one small.
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It takes great wit and interest and energy to be happy. The pursuit of happiness is a great activity. One must be open and alive. It is the greatest feat man has to accomplish.
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Against diseases here the strongest fence is the defensive vertue, Abstinence.
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Bid me to love, and I will give a loving heart to thee.
Robert Herrick
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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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In ways to greatness think on this, That slippery all ambition is
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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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Bid me to live, and I will liveThy Protestant to be,Or bid me love, and I will giveA loving heart to thee.
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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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A sweet disorder in the dress Kindles in clothes a wantonness A lawn about the shoulders thrown Into a fine distraction.
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Necessity makes dastards valiant men.
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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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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!
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
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Give me a kiss, and to that kiss a score: Then to that twenty, add a hundred more.
Robert Herrick