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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.

Robert Herrick

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Robert Herrick
Age: 83 †
Born: 1591
Born: August 24
Died: 1674
Died: October 12
Poet
Writer
London
England
Trust
Though
Navigation
Drown
Shore
Ships
Calm
Sea
Late

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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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In sober mornings do not thou rehearse The holy incantation of a verse
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Necessity makes dastards valiant men.
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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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Men are suspicious prone to discontent: Subjects still loathe the present Government.
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Well I sup and well I dine, When I drink my frolic wine.
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Happy is the bride that the sun shines on.
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When one is past, another care we have Thus woe succeeds a woe, as wave a wave.
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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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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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Conquer we shall, but, we must first contend! It's not the fight that crowns us, but the end.
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Some asked me where the rubies grew, And nothing I did say But with my finger pointed to The lips of Julia.
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Temptations hurt not, though they have accesse Satan o'ercomes none but by willingnesse.
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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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Things are evermore sincere / Candor here, and lustre there / Delighting.
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O thou, the drink of gods and angels! Wine
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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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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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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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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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