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

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 Julia's Voice

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

To His Mistress, Objecting To Him Neither Toying Or Talking

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

To The Painter, To Draw Him A Picture.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

On Himself.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

English

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The Smell Of The Sacrifice.

The gods require the thighs
Of beeves for sacrifice;
Which roasted, we the steam
Must sacrifice to them,
Who though they do not eat,
Yet love the smell of meat.

Robert Herrick

The Power In The People.

Let kings command and do the best they may,
The saucy subjects still will bear the sway.

Robert Herrick

Princes And Favourites.

Princes and fav'rites are most dear, while they
By giving and receiving hold the play;
But the relation then of both grows poor,
When these can ask, and kings can give no more.

Robert Herrick

Duty To Tyrants.

Good princes must be pray'd for; for the bad
They must be borne with, and in rev'rence had.
Do they first pill thee, next pluck off thy skin?
Good children kiss the rods that punish sin.
Touch not the tyrant; let the gods alone
To strike him dead that but usurps a throne.

Robert Herrick

Blame The Reward Of Princes.

Among disasters that dissension brings,
This not the least is, which belongs to kings:
If wars go well, each for a part lays claim;
If ill, then kings, not soldiers, bear the blame.

Robert Herrick

The Plunder.

I am of all bereft,
Save but some few beans left,
Whereof, at last, to make
For me and mine a cake,
Which eaten, they and I
Will say our grace, and die.

Robert Herrick