Bastards.

Our bastard children are but like to plate
Made by the coiners--illegitimate.

Robert Herrick

Robert Herrick was a 17th-century English lyric poet and cleric. He is known for his book of poems, "Hesperides," which includes the carpe diem poem "To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time." His works are noted for their clarity, simplicity, and musical quality. Herrick was also a vicar of Dean Prior in Devon, despite being ejected during the English Civil War and later reinstated.

Robert Herrick

No Bashfulness In Begging.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Maids' Nays Are Nothing.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Upon Tubbs.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

To Electra.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

English

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Upon His Verses.

What offspring other men have got,
The how, where, when, I question not.
These are the children I have left,
Adopted some, none got by theft;
But all are touch'd, like lawful plate,
And no verse illegitimate.

Robert Herrick

The Children

These were our children who died for our lands: they were dear in our sight.
We have only the memory left of their hometreasured sayings and laughter.
The price of our loss shall be paid to our hands, not another's hereafter.
Neither the Alien nor Priest shall decide on it. That is our right.
But who shall return us the children?
At the hour the Barbarian chose to disclose his pretences,
And raged against Man, they engaged, on the breasts that they bared for us,
The first felon-stroke of the sword he had longtime prepared for us,
Their bodies were all our defence while we wrought our defences.

They bought us anew with their blood, forbearing to blame us,
Those hours which we had not made good when the Judgment o'ercame us.
They believed us and perished for it. Our statecraft, ou...

Rudyard

Bad Princes Pill The People.

Like those infernal deities which eat
The best of all the sacrificed meat;
And leave their servants but the smoke and sweat:
So many kings, and primates too there are,
Who claim the fat and fleshy for their share
And leave their subjects but the starved ware.

Robert Herrick

Upon Batt.

Batt he gets children, not for love to rear 'em;
But out of hope his wife might die to bear 'em.

Robert Herrick

A Lay Of Real Life

"Some are born with a wooden spoon in their mouths,
and some with a golden ladle."        GOLDSMITH.

"Some are born with tin rings in their noses, and
with silver ones."                SILVERSMITH.


Who ruined me ere I was born,
Sold every acre, grass or corn,
And left the next heir all forlorn?
                    My Grandfather.

Who said my mother was no nurse.
And physicked me and made me worse,
Till infancy became a curse?
                    My Grandmother.

Who left me in my seventh year,
A comfort to my mother dear,
And Mr. Pope, the overseer?
                My Father.

Who let me starve, to buy her gin,
Till all my bones came through my skin,
Then called me "ugly little sin?"
                My Mother.

Thomas Hood

The Primitiæ To Parents.

Our household-gods our parents be;
And manners good require that we
The first fruits give to them, who gave
Us hands to get what here we have.

Robert Herrick