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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!
Robert Herrick
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Robert Herrick
Age: 83 †
Born: 1591
Born: August 24
Died: 1674
Died: October 12
Poet
Writer
London
England
Meet
Skill
Sweet
Doctor
Lees
Hope
Sees
Artless
Running
Doctors
Potion
Spirit
None
Pill
Littles
Skills
Fees
Little
Kill
Pills
Nothing
Comfort
Runs
More quotes by Robert Herrick
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.
Robert Herrick
Praise they that will times past, I joy to see My selfe now live: this age best pleaseth mee.
Robert Herrick
A spark neglected makes a mighty fire.
Robert Herrick
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.
Robert Herrick
And as this round (ring) is nowhere found to flaw, or else to sever. So let our love as endless prove and pure as gold forever.
Robert Herrick
If little labour, little are our gains: Man's fortunes are according to his pains.
Robert Herrick
Those Saints, which God loves best, The Devil tempts not least.
Robert Herrick
A sweet disorder in the dress Kindles in clothes a wantonness A lawn about the shoulders thrown Into a fine distraction.
Robert Herrick
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.
Robert Herrick
Art quickens nature care will make a face Neglected beauty perisheth apace.
Robert Herrick
Bid me to live, and I will liveThy Protestant to be,Or bid me love, and I will giveA loving heart to thee.
Robert Herrick
Well I sup and well I dine, When I drink my frolic wine.
Robert Herrick
In sober mornings do not thou rehearse The holy incantation of a verse
Robert Herrick
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.
Robert Herrick
The body is the soul's poor house or home, whose ribs the laths are and whose flesh the loam.
Robert Herrick
T is the will that makes the action good or ill.
Robert Herrick
Some asked me where the rubies grew, And nothing I did say But with my finger pointed to The lips of Julia.
Robert Herrick
Hast thou attempted greatnesse? Then go on Back-turning slackens resolution.
Robert Herrick
Give house-room to the best 'tis never known Verture and pleasure both to dwell in one.
Robert Herrick
Go to your banquet then, but use delight So as to rise still with an appetite.
Robert Herrick