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In the hour of my distress, When temptations me oppress, And when I my sins confess, Sweet Spirit, comfort me.

Robert Herrick

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Robert Herrick
Age: 83 †
Born: 1591
Born: August 24
Died: 1674
Died: October 12
Poet
Writer
London
England
Sin
Comfort
Oppress
Sweet
Temptations
Hours
Confess
Spirit
Distress
Sins
Temptation
Hour

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The person lives twice who 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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Conquer we shall, but, we must first contend! It's not the fight that crowns us, but the end.
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Well I sup and well I dine, When I drink my frolic wine.
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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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In sober mornings do not thou rehearse The holy incantation of a verse
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In ways to greatness think on this, That slippery all ambition is
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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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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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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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Happy is the bride that the sun shines on.
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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 spark neglected makes a mighty fire.
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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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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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If little labour, little are our gains: Man's fortunes are according to his pains.
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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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Next, when I cast mine eyes and see That brave vibration each way free, O how that glittering taketh me!
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Tis not the food, but the content, That makes the table's merriment.
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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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