It is in such poems as the following one that Herrick is at his best; his religious, or, as he called them, his “noble numbers,” being for the most part inferior. But in his lyrics, as Austin Dobson says, his “numbers are of gold.”

A sweet disorder in the dress
Kindles in clothes a wantonness;
A lawn about the shoulders thrown,
Into a fine distraction;
An erring lace, which here and there
Enthralls the crimson stomacher;
A cuff neglected, and thereby
Ribbands to flow confusedly;
A winning wave, deserving note,
In the tempestuous petticoat;
A careless shoestring, in whose tie
I see a wild civility;
Doth more bewitch me than when art
Is too precise in every part.