Good And Bad.

The bad among the good are here mix'd ever;
The good without the bad are here plac'd never.

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

Hell Fire.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

The Plunder.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Pity To The Prostrate.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Upon Crab. Epig.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

English

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Evil.

Evil no nature hath; the loss of good
Is that which gives to sin a livelihood.

Robert Herrick

His Confession.

Look how our foul days do exceed our fair;
And as our bad, more than our good works are,
E'en so those lines, pen'd by my wanton wit,
Treble the number of these good I've writ.
Things precious are least numerous: men are prone
To do ten bad for one good action.

Robert Herrick

Upon The Troublesome Times.

O times most bad,
Without the scope
Of hope
Of better to be had!

Where shall I go,
Or whither run
To shun
This public overthrow?

No places are,
This I am sure,
Secure
In this our wasting war.

Some storms we've past,
Yet we must all
Down fall,
And perish at the last.

Robert Herrick

Bad May Be Better.

Man may at first transgress, but next do well:
Vice doth in some but lodge a while, not dwell.

Robert Herrick

Pain And Pleasure.

God suffers not His saints and servants dear
To have continual pain or pleasure here;
But look how night succeeds the day, so He
Gives them by turns their grief and jollity.

Robert Herrick

No Loathsomeness In Love.

What I fancy I approve,
No dislike there is in love.
Be my mistress short or tall,
And distorted therewithal:
Be she likewise one of those
That an acre hath of nose:
Be her forehead and her eyes
Full of incongruities:
Be her cheeks so shallow too
As to show her tongue wag through;
Be her lips ill hung or set,
And her grinders black as jet:
Has she thin hair, hath she none,
She's to me a paragon.

Robert Herrick