The Scare-Fire.

Water, water I desire,
Here's a house of flesh on fire;
Ope the fountains and the springs,
And come all to bucketings:
What ye cannot quench pull down;
Spoil a house to save a town:
Better 'tis that one should fall,
Than by one to hazard all.

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

The Night Piece, To Julia

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Pastoral Sung To The King

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Upon Slouch.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

God.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

His Misery In A Mistress.

Water, water I espy;
Come and cool ye, all who fry
In your loves; but none as I.

Though a thousand showers be
Still a-falling, yet I see
Not one drop to light on me.

Happy you who can have seas
For to quench ye, or some ease
From your kinder mistresses.

I have one, and she alone,
Of a thousand thousand known,
Dead to all compassion.

Such an one as will repeat
Both the cause and make the heat
More by provocation great.

Gentle friends, though I despair
Of my cure, do you beware
Of those girls which cruel are.

Robert Herrick

To Dews. A Song.

I burn, I burn; and beg of you
To quench or cool me with your dew.
I fry in fire, and so consume,
Although the pile be all perfume.
Alas! the heat and death's the same,
Whether by choice or common flame,
To be in oil of roses drowned,
Or water; where's the comfort found?
Both bring one death; and I die here
Unless you cool me with a tear:
Alas! I call; but ah! I see
Ye cool and comfort all but me.

Robert Herrick

The Spell.

Holy water come and bring;
Cast in salt, for seasoning:
Set the brush for sprinkling:
Sacred spittle bring ye hither;
Meal and it now mix together,
And a little oil to either.
Give the tapers here their light,
Ring the saints'-bell, to affright
Far from hence the evil sprite.

Robert Herrick

To Springs And Fountains.

I heard ye could cool heat, and came
With hope you would allay the same;
Thrice I have wash'd but feel no cold,
Nor find that true which was foretold.
Methinks, like mine, your pulses beat
And labour with unequal heat;
Cure, cure yourselves, for I descry
Ye boil with love as well as I.

Robert Herrick

Hell Fire.

The fire of hell this strange condition hath,
To burn, not shine, as learned Basil saith.

Robert Herrick

Upon Love.

Love's a thing, as I do hear,
Ever full of pensive fear;
Rather than to which I'll fall,
Trust me, I'll not like at all.
If to love I should intend,
Let my hair then stand an end:
And that terror likewise prove
Fatal to me in my love.
But if horror cannot slake
Flames which would an entrance make
Then the next thing I desire
Is, to love and live i' th' fire.

Robert Herrick