Upon Croot.

One silver spoon shines in the house of Croot;
Who cannot buy or steal a second to't.

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 Himself Being Buried.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

On Fortune.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Leaven.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Eternity

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

English

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Upon Roots. Epig.

Roots had no money; yet he went o' the score,
For a wrought purse; can any tell wherefore?
Say, what should Roots do with a purse in print,
That had not gold nor silver to put in't?

Robert Herrick

The Plunder.

I am of all bereft,
Save but some few beans left,
Whereof, at last, to make
For me and mine a cake,
Which eaten, they and I
Will say our grace, and die.

Robert Herrick

A Frolic.

Bring me my rosebuds, drawer, come;
So, while I thus sit crown'd,
I'll drink the aged Cæcubum,
Until the roof turn round.

Robert Herrick

Upon Skurf.

Skurf by his nine-bones swears, and well he may:
All know a fellon eat the tenth away.

Robert Herrick

Upon Ralph.

Ralph pares his nails, his warts, his corns, and Ralph
In sev'rall tills and boxes, keeps 'em safe;
Instead of hartshorn, if he speaks the troth,
To make a lusty-jelly for his broth.

Robert Herrick

His Alms.

Here, here I live,
And somewhat give
Of what I have
To those who crave,
Little or much,
My alms is such;
But if my deal
Of oil and meal
Shall fuller grow,
More I'll bestow;
Meantime be it
E'en but a bit,
Or else a crumb,
The scrip hath some.

Robert Herrick