Upon Skoles. Epig.

Skoles stinks so deadly, that his breeches loath
His dampish buttocks furthermore to clothe;
Cloy'd they are up with arse; but hope, one blast
Will whirl about, and blow them thence at last.

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 His Kinswoman, Mistress Elizabeth Herrick.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

The Candour Of Julia's Teeth.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

To His Muse; Another To The Same.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

To Electra. Love Looks For Love.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

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

Upon M. Ben. Jonson. Epig.

After the rare arch-poet, Jonson, died,
The sock grew loathsome, and the buskin's pride,
Together with the stage's glory, stood
Each like a poor and pitied widowhood.
The cirque profan'd was, and all postures rack'd;
For men did strut, and stride, and stare, not act.
Then temper flew from words, and men did squeak,
Look red, and blow, and bluster, but not speak;
No holy rage or frantic fires did stir
Or flash about the spacious theatre.
No clap of hands, or shout, or praise's proof
Did crack the play-house sides, or cleave her roof.
Artless the scene was, and that monstrous sin
Of deep and arrant ignorance came in:
Such ignorance as theirs was who once hiss'd
At thy unequall'd play, the Alchemist;
Oh, fie upon 'em! Lastly, too, all wit
In utter dar...

Robert Herrick

Upon Lungs. Epig.

Lungs, as some say, ne'er sets him down to eat
But that his breath does fly-blow all the meat.

Robert Herrick

Upon Lulls.

Lulls swears he is all heart; but you'll suppose
By his proboscis that he is all nose.

Robert Herrick

Upon Skinns. Epig.

Skinns, he dined well to-day: how do you think?
His nails they were his meat, his rheum the drink.

Robert Herrick

Upon Jone And Jane.

Jone is a wench that's painted;
Jone is a girl that's tainted;
Yet Jone she goes
Like one of those
Whom purity had sainted.

Jane is a girl that's pretty;
Jane is a wench that's witty;
Yet who would think,
Her breath does stink,
As so it doth? that's pity.

Robert Herrick