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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
Appetite
Rise
Delight
Eating
Use
Stills
Still
Banquet
Banquets

More quotes by Robert Herrick

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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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Things are evermore sincere / Candor here, and lustre there / Delighting.
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Well I sup and well I dine, When I drink my frolic wine.
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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 hard to find God, but to comprehend Him, as He is, is labour without end.
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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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Bid me to love, and I will give a loving heart to thee.
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The first act's doubtful, but we say, it is the last commends the play.
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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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So when or you or I are made A fable, song, or fleeting shade All love, all liking, all delight Lies drowned with us in endless night. Then while time serves, and we are but decaying Come, my Corinna, come, let's go a Maying.
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None pities him that is in the snare, who warned before, would not beware.
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Outdid the meat, outdid the frolic wine.
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Then be not coy, but use your time And while ye may, go marry: For having lost but once your prime, You may for ever tarry.
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When words we want, love teacheth to indite And what we blush to speak, she bids us write.
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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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In the hour of my distress, When temptations me oppress, And when I my sins confess, Sweet Spirit, comfort me.
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Tears are the noble language of the eye.
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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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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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Each must in virtue strive for to excel That man lives twice that lives the first life well.
Robert Herrick