The Complete Poems of Robert Herrick, Volume 3

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Chatto and Windus, 1876 - English poetry
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Page 12 - AH, Ben ! Say how or when Shall we, thy guests, Meet at those lyric feasts Made at the Sun, The Dog, the Triple Tun ; Where we such clusters had As made us nobly wild, not mad ? And yet each verse of thine Outdid the meat, outdid the frolic wine.
Page 135 - LORD, thou hast given me a cell Wherein to dwell, A little house, whose humble roof Is weatherproof, Under the spars of which I lie Both soft and dry ; Where thou, my chamber for to ward, Hast set a guard Of harmless thoughts, to watch and keep Me while I sleep. Low is my porch, as is my fate, Both void of state ; And yet the threshold of my door Is worn by th' poor, Who thither come and freely get Good words or meat.
Page 132 - IN the hour of my distress, When temptations me oppress, And when I my sins confess, Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! When I lie within my bed, Sick in heart and sick in head, And with doubts discomforted, Sweet Spirit, comfort me...
Page 138 - Twice ten for one. Thou mak'st my teeming hen to lay Her egg each day ; Besides my healthful ewes to bear Me twins each year, The while the conduits of my kine Run cream for wine. All these, and better...
Page 205 - It is to fast from strife, From old debate And hate To circumcise thy life. To show a heart grief-rent ; To starve thy sin, Not bin ; And that's to keep thy Lent.
Page 54 - Or think on't now, That ever thou Wast kind : But chang'd above. She likes not there, As she did here, Thy love. Forbear, therefore, And lull asleepe Thy woes, and weep No more.
Page 137 - ... hast sent : And my content Makes those, and my beloved beet, To be more sweet. "Tis thou that crown'st my glittering hearth With guiltless mirth ; And giv'st me wassail bowls to drink, Spiced to the brink.
Page 13 - Nam castum esse decet pium poetam Ipsum, versiculos nihil necesse est, Qui tum denique habent salem ac leporem, Si sunt molliculi ac parum pudici Et quod pruriat incitare possunt, 1o Non dico pueris, sed his pilosis, Qui duros nequeunt movere lumbos.
Page 159 - WHAT sweeter music can we bring Than a carol, for to sing The birth of this our heavenly King? Awake the voice, awake the string ! Heart, ear, and eye, and every thing, Awake, the while the active finger Runs division with the singer.
Page 120 - Writ in my wild unhallowed Times; For every sentence, clause and word, That's not inlaid with Thee, (my Lord) Forgive me God, and blot each Line j Out of my Book, that is not Thine. But if, 'mongst all, thou find'st here one Worthy thy Benediction; That One of all the rest, shall be The Glory of my Work, and Me.

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