Poem by Robert Herrick

A Hymn to the Graces

When I love, as some have told
Love I shall, when I am old,
O ye Graces! make me fit
For the welcoming of it!
Clean my rooms, as temples be,
To entertain that deity;
Give me words wherewith to woo,
Suppling and successful too;
Winning postures; and withal,
Manners each way musical;
Sweetness to allay my sour
And unsmooth behaviour:
For I know you have the skill
Vines to prune, though not to kill;
And of any wood ye see,
You can make a Mercury. 

1. Wlt Punished Prospers Most
2. To Enjoy the Time
3. No Pains, No Gains
4. Upon Wrinkles
5. Upon Tears

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