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Like will to like, each creature loves his kind.

Robert Herrick

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Robert Herrick
Age: 83 †
Born: 1591
Born: August 24
Died: 1674
Died: October 12
Poet
Writer
London
England
Loves
Creatures
Kind
Like
Creature

More quotes by 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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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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Whatever comes, let's be content withal: Among God's blessings there is no one small.
Robert Herrick
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Tis hard to find God, but to comprehend Him, as He is, is labour without end.
Robert Herrick
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Bid me to love, and I will give a loving heart to thee.
Robert Herrick
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Give house-room to the best 'tis never known Verture and pleasure both to dwell in one.
Robert Herrick
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Things are evermore sincere / Candor here, and lustre there / Delighting.
Robert Herrick
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Know when to speak - for many times it brings danger, to give the best advice to kings.
Robert Herrick
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Praise they that will times past, I joy to see My selfe now live: this age best pleaseth mee.
Robert Herrick
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Learn this of me, where'er thy lot doth fall, Short lot, or not, to be content with all.
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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Against diseases here the strongest fence is the defensive vertue, Abstinence.
Robert Herrick
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Thus times do shift, each thing his turn does hold New things succeed, as former things grow old.
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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T is the will that makes the action good or ill.
Robert Herrick
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Seldom comes Glory till a man be dead.
Robert Herrick
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Fight thou with shafts of silver, and o'ercome When no force else can get the masterdom
Robert Herrick
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Tis not the food, but the content, That makes the table's merriment.
Robert Herrick
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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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Gather ye rosebuds, while ye may.
Robert Herrick