Quote

Next, when I cast mine eyes and see That brave vibration each way free, O how that glittering taketh me!

Robert Herrick

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Robert Herrick
Age: 83 †
Born: 1591
Born: August 24
Died: 1674
Died: October 12
Poet
Writer
London
England
Way
Brave
Mines
Mine
Beauty
Glittering
Eyes
Vibration
Free
Vibrations
Eye
Cast
Next
Casts

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Gather ye rosebuds, while ye may.
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Those Saints, which God loves best, The Devil tempts not least.
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Outdid the meat, outdid the frolic wine.
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Cherry-ripe, ripe, ripe, I cry, Full and fair ones come and buy. If so be you ask me where They do grow, I answer: There, Where my Julia's lips do smile There's the land, or cherry-isle, Whose plantations fully show All the year where cherries grow.
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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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The body is the soul's poor house or home, whose ribs the laths are and whose flesh the loam.
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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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Give house-room to the best 'tis never known Verture and pleasure both to dwell in one.
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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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That age is best which is the first When youth and blood are warmer.
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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.
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In sober mornings do not thou rehearse The holy incantation of a verse
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Like will to like, each creature loves his kind.
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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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Well I sup and well I dine, When I drink my frolic wine.
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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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In ways to greatness think on this, That slippery all ambition is
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Tis not the food, but the content, That makes the table's merriment.
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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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Men are suspicious prone to discontent: Subjects still loathe the present Government.
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