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O thou, the drink of gods and angels! Wine

Robert Herrick

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Robert Herrick
Age: 83 †
Born: 1591
Born: August 24
Died: 1674
Died: October 12
Poet
Writer
London
England
Gods
Thou
Angel
Wine
Drink
Angels

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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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In the hour of my distress, When temptations me oppress, And when I my sins confess, Sweet Spirit, comfort me.
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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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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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Each must in virtue strive for to excel That man lives twice that lives the first life well.
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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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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.
Robert Herrick
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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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Those Saints, which God loves best, The Devil tempts not least.
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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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Temptations hurt not, though they have accesse Satan o'ercomes none but by willingnesse.
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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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Seldom comes Glory till a man be dead.
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What is a kiss? Why this, as some approve: the sure, sweet cement, glue, and lime of love.
Robert Herrick
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Some asked me where the rubies grew, And nothing I did say But with my finger pointed to The lips of Julia.
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.
Robert Herrick
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Tis not the food, but the content, That makes the table's merriment.
Robert Herrick
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Art quickens nature care will make a face Neglected beauty perisheth apace.
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A spark neglected makes a mighty fire.
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