Upon A Free Maid, With A Foul Breath.

You say you'll kiss me, and I thank you for it;
But stinking breath, I do as hell abhor it.

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 The Detractor.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Montes Scripturarum: The Mounts Of The Scriptures.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

The Entertainment; Or, Porch-Verse, At The Marriage Of Mr. Henry Northly And The Most Witty Mrs. Lettice Yard.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Upon Himself.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

English

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Upon A Sour-Breath Lady. Epig.

Fie, quoth my lady, what a stink is here?
When 'twas her breath that was the carrionere.

Robert Herrick

Kisses Loathsome.

I abhor the slimy kiss,
Which to me most loathsome is.
Those lips please me which are placed
Close, but not too strictly laced:
Yielding I would have them; yet
Not a wimbling tongue admit:
What should poking-sticks make there,
When the ruffe is set elswhere?

Robert Herrick

Upon A Crooked Maid.

Crooked you are, but that dislikes not me:
So you be straight where virgins straight should be.

Robert Herrick

To The Most Fair And Lovely Mistress Anne Soame, Now Lady Abdie.

So smell those odours that do rise
From out the wealthy spiceries;
So smells the flower of blooming clove,
Or roses smother'd in the stove;
So smells the air of spiced wine,
Or essences of jessamine;
So smells the breath about the hives
When well the work of honey thrives,
And all the busy factors come
Laden with wax and honey home;
So smell those neat and woven bowers
All over-arch'd with orange flowers,
And almond blossoms that do mix
To make rich these aromatics;
So smell those bracelets and those bands
Of amber chaf'd between the hands,
When thus enkindled they transpire
A noble perfume from the fire;
The wine of cherries, and to these
The cooling breath of respasses;
The smell of morning's milk and cream,
Butter of cowslips mix'd ...

Robert Herrick

To A Maid.

You say, you love me! that I thus must prove:
It that you lie, then I will swear you love.

Robert Herrick

Another To The Maids

Wash your hands, or else the fire
Will not tend to your desire;
Unwashed hands, ye maidens, know,
Dead the fire, though ye blow.

Robert Herrick