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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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Robert Herrick
Age: 83 †
Born: 1591
Born: August 24
Died: 1674
Died: October 12
Poet
Writer
London
England
Banquets
Appetite
Rise
Delight
Eating
Use
Stills
Still
Banquet

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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.
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T is the will that makes the action good or ill.
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Outdid the meat, outdid the frolic wine.
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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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Fight thou with shafts of silver, and o'ercome When no force else can get the masterdom
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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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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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Tis not the food, but the content, That makes the table's merriment.
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Who covets more is evermore a slave.
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The person lives twice who lives the first life well
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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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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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Oft have I heard both youths and virgins say, Birds chuse their mates and couple too this day: But by their flight I never can devine When I shall couple with my valentine.
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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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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.
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Happy is the bride that the sun shines on.
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Well I sup and well I dine, When I drink my frolic wine.
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Tis hard to find God, but to comprehend Him, as He is, is labour without end.
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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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No, not Jove Himselfe, at one time, can be wise and love.
Robert Herrick