A sweet disorder in the dress kindles in clothes a wantonness: a lawn about the shoulders thrown into a fine distraction: an erring lace, which here and there enthralls the crimson stomacher: a cuff neglectful, and thereby ribbands to flow confusedly: a winning wave (deserving note) in the tempestuous petticoat: a careless shoestring, in whose tie I see a wild civility: do more bewitch me than when art is too precise in every part.
Art quickens nature; care will make a face; Neglected beauty perisheth apace.
Fain would I kiss my Julia's dainty leg, Which is as white and hairless as an egg.
He loves his bonds who, when the first are broke, Submits his neck into a second yoke.
I dreamed this mortal part of mine was metamorphosed to a vine,
l saw a fly within a bead Of amber cleanly buried.
Night makes no difference 'twixt the Priest and Clerk; Joan as my Lady is as good i' th' dark.
Praise they that will times past, I joy to see My selfe now live: this age best pleaseth mee.
That happiness does still the longest thrive where joys and griefs have turns alternative.
Thus times do shift, each thing his turn does hold; new things succeed, as former things grow old.
What is a kiss? Why this, as some approve: the sure, sweet cement, glue, and lime of love.
Why doe ye weep, sweet babes? Can tears Speak griefe in you, Who were but borne Just as the modest morne Teemed her refreshing dew?
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.
Attempt the end and never stand to doubt; nothing's so hard, but search will find it out.
Faire pledges of a fruitful tree Why do yee fall so fast? Your date is not so past But you may stay yet here awhile To blush and gently smile And go at last.
He who has suffered shipwreck, fears to sail Upon the seas, though with a gentle gale.
I have lost, and lately, these many dainty mistresses:
Laid out for death, let thy last kindness be with leaves and moss-work for to cover me: and while the wood-nymphs my cold corpse inter, sing thou my dirge, sweet-warbling chorister! For epitaph, in foliage, next write this: Here, here the tomb of Robin Herrick is.
No day is wholly unproductive of good.
Rise and put on your foliage, and be seen to come forth, like the springtime, fresh and green.
That having ease me given, with full delight, I leave this light; and take my flight for Heaven.
Thus woe succeeds a woe, as wave a wave.
What though the sea be calm? trust to the shore, Ships have been drown'd, where late they danc'd before.
Y'are the maiden posies, and so graced to be placed 'fore damask roses. Yet though thus respected by-and-by ye do lie, poor girls, neglected.
Actions from youth, advice from the middle-aged, prayers from the aged.