Upon Bungy.

Bungy does fast; looks pale; puts sackcloth on;
Not out of conscience, or religion:
Or that this younker keeps so strict a Lent,
Fearing to break the king's commandement:
But being poor, and knowing flesh is dear,
He keeps not one, but many Lents i' th' year.

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

Upon Tooly.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

To A Maid.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

To God: On His Sickness.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

To Oenone.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

English

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To Keep A True Lent.

Is this a fast, to keep
    The larder lean?
        And clean
From fat of veals and sheep?

Is it to quit the dish
    Of flesh, yet still
        To fill
The platter high with fish?

Is it to fast an hour,
    Or ragg'd to go,
        Or show
A downcast look and sour?

No; 'tis a fast to dole
    Thy sheaf of wheat,
        And meat,
Unto the hungry soul.

It is to fast from strife,
    From old debate
        And hate;
To circumcise thy life.

To show a heart grief-rent;
    To starve thy sin,
        Not bin;
And that's to keep thy Lent.

Robert Herrick

Upon Bunce. Epig.

Money thou ow'st me; prethee fix a day
For payment promis'd, though thou never pay:
Let it be Dooms-day; nay, take longer scope;
Pay when th'art honest; let me have some hope.

Robert Herrick

Once Poor, Still Penurious.

Goes the world now, it will with thee go hard:
The fattest hogs we grease the more with lard.
To him that has, there shall be added more;
Who is penurious, he shall still be poor.

Robert Herrick

The Fast, Or Lent.

Noah the first was, as tradition says,
That did ordain the fast of forty days.

Robert Herrick

Upon The Bishop Of Lincoln's Imprisonment.

Never was day so over-sick with showers
But that it had some intermitting hours;
Never was night so tedious but it knew
The last watch out, and saw the dawning too;
Never was dungeon so obscurely deep
Wherein or light or day did never peep;
Never did moon so ebb, or seas so wane,
But they left hope-seed to fill up again.
So you, my lord, though you have now your stay,
Your night, your prison, and your ebb, you may
Spring up afresh, when all these mists are spent,
And star-like, once more gild our firmament.
Let but that mighty Cæsar speak, and then
All bolts, all bars, all gates shall cleave; as when
That earthquake shook the house, and gave the stout
Apostles way, unshackled, to go out.
This, as I wish for, so I hope to see;
Though you, my lord, have bee...

Robert Herrick

Upon Cuffe. Epig.

Cuffe comes to church much: but he keeps his bed
Those Sundays only whenas briefs are read.
This makes Cuffe dull; and troubles him the most,
Because he cannot sleep i' th' church free cost.

Robert Herrick