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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
Angel
Wine
Drink
Angels
Gods
Thou

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In prayer the lips ne'er act the winning part, Without the sweet concurrence of the heart.
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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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No, not Jove Himselfe, at one time, can be wise and love.
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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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Outdid the meat, outdid the frolic wine.
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I dare not ask a kiss I dare not beg a smile Lest having that or this, I might grow proud the while. No, no, the utmost share Of my desire shall be Only to kiss that air, That lately kissed thee.
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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 May-pole is up, Now give me the cup I'll drink to the garlands around it But first unto those Whose hands did compose The glory of flowers that crown'd it.
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If little labour, little are our gains: Man's fortunes are according to his pains.
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Like will to like, each creature loves his kind.
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Tis hard to find God, but to comprehend Him, as He is, is labour without end.
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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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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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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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Things are evermore sincere / Candor here, and lustre there / Delighting.
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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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That age is best which is the first When youth and blood are warmer.
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Go to your banquet then, but use delight So as to rise still with an appetite.
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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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Each must in virtue strive for to excel That man lives twice that lives the first life well.
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