Quote

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.

Robert Herrick

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Robert Herrick
Age: 83 †
Born: 1591
Born: August 24
Died: 1674
Died: October 12
Poet
Writer
London
England
Winning
Careless
Art
Precise
Tempestuous
Part
Strings
Apparel
Doe
Note
Wilde
Every
Wave
Civility
Notes
Shoe
Shoes
Deserving
Whose
String

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The body is the soul's poor house or home, whose ribs the laths are and whose flesh the loam.
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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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Know when to speak - for many times it brings danger, to give the best advice to kings.
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Go to your banquet then, but use delight So as to rise still with an appetite.
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Well I sup and well I dine, When I drink my frolic wine.
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Like will to like, each creature loves his kind.
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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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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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The person lives twice who lives the first life well
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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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Gather ye rosebuds, while ye may.
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Who covets more is evermore a slave.
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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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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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No, not Jove Himselfe, at one time, can be wise and love.
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Against diseases here the strongest fence is the defensive vertue, Abstinence.
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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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That age is best which is the first When youth and blood are warmer.
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T is the will that makes the action good or ill.
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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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