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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.

Robert Herrick

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Robert Herrick
Age: 83 †
Born: 1591
Born: August 24
Died: 1674
Died: October 12
Poet
Writer
London
England
Spring
Eating
Whose
Food
Pleasure
Paine
Must
Fills
Make
Feed
Like
Sent

More quotes by Robert Herrick

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Bid me to love, and I will give a loving heart to thee.
Robert Herrick
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Happy is the bride that the sun shines on.
Robert Herrick
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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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No, not Jove Himselfe, at one time, can be wise and love.
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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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Praise they that will times past, I joy to see My selfe now live: this age best pleaseth mee.
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Fight thou with shafts of silver, and o'ercome When no force else can get the masterdom
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Humble we must be, if to heaven we go High is the roof there, but the gate is low.
Robert Herrick
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Give house-room to the best 'tis never known Verture and pleasure both to dwell in one.
Robert Herrick
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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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Whatever comes, let's be content withal: Among God's blessings there is no one small.
Robert Herrick
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If little labour, little are our gains: Man's fortunes are according to his pains.
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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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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.
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Temptations hurt not, though they have accesse Satan o'ercomes none but by willingnesse.
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Who covets more is evermore a slave.
Robert Herrick
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The first act's doubtful, but we say, it is the last commends the play.
Robert Herrick
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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.
Robert Herrick
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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.
Robert Herrick
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What is a kiss? Why this, as some approve: the sure, sweet cement, glue, and lime of love.
Robert Herrick