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Art quickens nature care will make a face Neglected beauty perisheth apace.

Robert Herrick

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Robert Herrick
Age: 83 †
Born: 1591
Born: August 24
Died: 1674
Died: October 12
Poet
Writer
London
England
Art
Nature
Care
Apace
Make
Quickens
Neglected
Beauty
Face
Faces

More quotes by Robert Herrick

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Go to your banquet then, but use delight So as to rise still with an appetite.
Robert Herrick
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When one is past, another care we have Thus woe succeeds a woe, as wave a wave.
Robert Herrick
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Who covets more is evermore a slave.
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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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He who has suffered shipwreck, fears to sail Upon the seas, though with a gentle gale.
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And as this round (ring) is nowhere found to flaw, or else to sever. So let our love as endless prove and pure as gold forever.
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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.
Robert Herrick
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When words we want, love teacheth to indite And what we blush to speak, she bids us write.
Robert Herrick
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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.
Robert Herrick
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Hast thou attempted greatnesse? Then go on Back-turning slackens resolution.
Robert Herrick
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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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Men are suspicious prone to discontent: Subjects still loathe the present Government.
Robert Herrick
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Necessity makes dastards valiant men.
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Gather ye rosebuds, while ye may.
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Tis hard to find God, but to comprehend Him, as He is, is labour without end.
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Temptations hurt not, though they have accesse Satan o'ercomes none but by willingnesse.
Robert Herrick
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The May-pole is up, Now give me the cup I'll drink to the garlands around it But first unto those Whose hands did compose The glory of flowers that crown'd it.
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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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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
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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.
Robert Herrick