Quote

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!

Robert Herrick

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Robert Herrick
Age: 83 †
Born: 1591
Born: August 24
Died: 1674
Died: October 12
Poet
Writer
London
England
Nothing
Comfort
Runs
Meet
Skill
Sweet
Doctor
Lees
Hope
Sees
Artless
Running
Doctors
Potion
Spirit
None
Pill
Littles
Skills
Fees
Little
Kill
Pills

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It takes great wit and interest and energy to be happy. The pursuit of happiness is a great activity. One must be open and alive. It is the greatest feat man has to accomplish.
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Tis hard to find God, but to comprehend Him, as He is, is labour without end.
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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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What is a kiss? Why this, as some approve: the sure, sweet cement, glue, and lime of love.
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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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He who has suffered shipwreck, fears to sail Upon the seas, though with a gentle gale.
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No, not Jove Himselfe, at one time, can be wise and love.
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Who covets more is evermore a slave.
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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.
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Tears are the noble language of the eye.
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T is the will that makes the action good or ill.
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Whatever comes, let's be content withal: Among God's blessings there is no one small.
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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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Go to your banquet then, but use delight So as to rise still with an appetite.
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Drink wine, and live here blitheful while ye may The morrow's life too late is live to-day.
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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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None pities him that is in the snare, who warned before, would not beware.
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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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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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Conquer we shall, but, we must first contend! It's not the fight that crowns us, but the end.
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