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Well I sup and well I dine, When I drink my frolic 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
Frolic
Dine
Wine
Drink
Wells
Well

More quotes by Robert Herrick

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In sober mornings do not thou rehearse The holy incantation of a verse
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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 sweet disorder in the dress Kindles in clothes a wantonness A lawn about the shoulders thrown Into a fine distraction.
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The person lives twice who lives the first life well
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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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None pities him that is in the snare, who warned before, would not beware.
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He who has suffered shipwreck, fears to sail Upon the seas, though with a gentle gale.
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Hast thou attempted greatnesse? Then go on Back-turning slackens resolution.
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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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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
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In the hour of my distress, When temptations me oppress, And when I my sins confess, Sweet Spirit, comfort me.
Robert Herrick
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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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In ways to greatness think on this, That slippery all ambition is
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But here's the sunset of a tedious day, These two asleep are I'll but be undrest, And so to bed. Pray wish us all good rest.
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No, not Jove Himselfe, at one time, can be wise and love.
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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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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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Give me a kiss, and to that kiss a score: Then to that twenty, add a hundred more.
Robert Herrick
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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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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