Quote

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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Robert Herrick
Age: 83 †
Born: 1591
Born: August 24
Died: 1674
Died: October 12
Poet
Writer
London
England
Praying
Rest
Wish
Two
Tedious
Good
Asleep
Sunset
Pray
Bed

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Give house-room to the best 'tis never known Verture and pleasure both to dwell in one.
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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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Tears are the noble language of the eye.
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Things are evermore sincere / Candor here, and lustre there / Delighting.
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Bid me to love, and I will give a loving heart to thee.
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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.
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Those Saints, which God loves best, The Devil tempts not least.
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If little labour, little are our gains: Man's fortunes are according to his pains.
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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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Conquer we shall, but, we must first contend! It's not the fight that crowns us, but the end.
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Humble we must be, if to heaven we go High is the roof there, but the gate is low.
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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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Bid me to live, and I will liveThy Protestant to be,Or bid me love, and I will giveA loving heart to thee.
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Necessity makes dastards valiant men.
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Men are suspicious prone to discontent: Subjects still loathe the present Government.
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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!
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Art quickens nature care will make a face Neglected beauty perisheth apace.
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Learn this of me, where'er thy lot doth fall, Short lot, or not, to be content with all.
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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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None pities him that is in the snare, who warned before, would not beware.
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