Upon An Old Woman.

Old Widow Prouse, to do her neighbours evil,
Would give, some say, her soul unto the devil.
Well, when she's kill'd that pig, goose, cock, or hen,
What would she give to get that soul again?

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 Genius Of His House

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

The Rose.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Precepts.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

A Paraneaticall Or Advice Verse To His Friend, Mr John Wicks

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

English

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Upon Greedy. Epig.

An old, old widow Greedy needs would wed,
Not for affection to her or her bed;
But in regard, 'twas often said, this old
Woman would bring him more than could be told.
He took her; now the jest in this appears,
So old she was, that none could tell her years.

Robert Herrick

Upon A Wife That Died Mad With Jealousy.

In this little vault she lies,
Here, with all her jealousies:
Quiet yet; but if ye make
Any noise they both will wake,
And such spirits raise 'twill then
Trouble death to lay again.

Robert Herrick

Upon Shopter.

Old Widow Shopter, whensoe'er she cries,
Lets drip a certain gravy from her eyes.

Robert Herrick

Upon An Old Man: A Residentiary.

Tread, sirs, as lightly as ye can
Upon the grave of this old man.
Twice forty, bating but one year
And thrice three weeks, he lived here.
Whom gentle fate translated hence
To a more happy residence.
Yet, reader, let me tell thee this,
Which from his ghost a promise is,
If here ye will some few tears shed,
He'll never haunt ye now he's dead.

Robert Herrick

The Hag.

The staff is now greas'd;
And very well pleas'd,
She cocks out her arse at the parting,
To an old ram goat
That rattles i' th' throat,
Half-choked with the stink of her farting.

In a dirty hair-lace
She leads on a brace
Of black boar-cats to attend her:
Who scratch at the moon,
And threaten at noon
Of night from heaven for to rend her.

A-hunting she goes,
A cracked horn she blows,
At which the hounds fall a-bounding;
While th' moon in her sphere
Peeps trembling for fear,
And night's afraid of the sounding.

Robert Herrick

Another To Bring In The Witch.

To house the hag, you must do this:
Commix with meal a little piss
Of him bewitch'd; then forthwith make
A little wafer or a cake;
And this rawly bak'd will bring
The old hag in. No surer thing.

Robert Herrick