Upon Nis.

Nis he makes verses; but the lines he writes
Serve but for matter to make paper kites.

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

Upon A Crooked Maid.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Fortune.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

All Things Run Well For The Righteous.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Good Luck Not Lasting.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

English

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Poets.

Wantons we are, and though our words be such,
Our lives do differ from our lines by much.

Robert Herrick

On Himself.

I'll sing no more, nor will I longer write
Of that sweet lady, or that gallant knight.
I'll sing no more of frosts, snows, dews and showers;
No more of groves, meads, springs and wreaths of flowers.
I'll write no more, nor will I tell or sing
Of Cupid and his witty cozening:
I'll sing no more of death, or shall the grave
No more my dirges and my trentalls have.

Robert Herrick

Upon Lulls.

Lulls swears he is all heart; but you'll suppose
By his proboscis that he is all nose.

Robert Herrick

On Poet Prat. Epig.

Prat he writes satires, but herein's the fault,
In no one satire there's a mite of salt.

Robert Herrick

To His Book. Another.

Who with thy leaves shall wipe, at need,
The place where swelling piles do breed;
May every ill that bites or smarts
Perplex him in his hinder parts.

Robert Herrick

To His Muse

Whither, mad maiden, wilt thou roam?
Far safer 'twere to stay at home;
Where thou mayst sit, and piping, please
The poor and private cottages.
Since cotes and hamlets best agree
With this thy meaner minstrelsy.
There with the reed thou mayst express
The shepherd's fleecy happiness;
And with thy Eclogues intermix:
Some smooth and harmless Bucolics.
There, on a hillock, thou mayst sing
Unto a handsome shepherdling;
Or to a girl, that keeps the neat,
With breath more sweet than violet.
There, there, perhaps such lines as these
May take the simple villages;
But for the court, the country wit
Is despicable unto it.
Stay then at home, and do not go
Or fly abroad to seek for woe;
Contempts in courts and cities dwell
No critic haunts the poor ...

Robert Herrick