The Will Makes The Work; Or, Consent Makes The Cure.

No grief is grown so desperate, but the ill
Is half way cured if the party will.

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

To Julia In The Temple.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

To A Friend.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Upon Gubbs. Epig.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

To His Book. Another.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

English

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A Will To Be Working.

Although we cannot turn the fervent fit
Of sin, we must strive 'gainst the stream of it;
And howsoe'er we have the conquest miss'd,
'Tis for our glory that we did resist.

Robert Herrick

The Will The Cause Of Woe.

When man is punish'd, he is plagued still,
Not for the fault of nature, but of will.

Robert Herrick

Satisfaction For Suffering

For all our works a recompence is sure;
'Tis sweet to think on what was hard t'endure.

Robert Herrick

Pain Ends In Pleasure.

Afflictions bring us joy in times to come,
When sins, by stripes, to us grow wearisome.

Robert Herrick

Sufferance.

In the hope of ease to come,
Let's endure one martyrdom.

Robert Herrick

On Himself.

Love-sick I am, and must endure
A desperate grief, that finds no cure.
Ah me! I try; and trying, prove
No herbs have power to cure love.
Only one sovereign salve I know,
And that is death, the end of woe.

Robert Herrick