The Choice of Valentines
Pardon
sweete
flower
of
matchless
Poetrie,
And
fairest
bud
the
red
rose
euer
bare
;
Although
my
Muse
deuor'st
from
deeper
care
Presents
thee
with
a
wanton
Elegie.
Ne
blame
my
verse
of
loose
unchastitie
For
painting
forth
the
things
that
hidden
are,
Since
all
men
acte
what
I
in
speache
declare,
Onelie
induced
by
varietie.
Complaints
and
praises
euerie
one
can
write,
And
passion-out
their
pangu's
in
statelie
rimes,
But
of
loues
pleasure's
none
did
euer
write
That
hath
succeeded
in
theis
latter
times.
Accept
of
it
Dear
Lord
in
gentle
gree,
And
better
lynes
ere
long
shall
honor
thee.
It
was
the
merie
moneth
of
Februarie
When
yong-men
in
their
iollie
roguerie
Rose
earelie
in
the
morne
fore
breake
of
daie
To
seeke
them
valentines
so
trimme
and
gaie.
With
whom
they
maie
consorte
in
summer
sheene,
And
dance
the
heidegeies
on
our
toune-greene.
As
Ale's
at
Easter
or
at
Pentecost
Perambulate
the
fields
that
flourish
most,
And
goe
to
som
village
abbordring
neere
To
taste
the
creame,
and
cakes
and
such
good
cheere,
Or
see
a
playe
of
strange
moralitie
Shewen
by
Bachelrie
of
Maningtree
;
Whereto
the
Contrie
franklins
flock-meale
swarme,
And
Ihon
and
Jone
com
marching
arme
in
arme,
Euen
on
the
hallowes
of
the
blessed
Saint,
That
doeth
true
louers
with
those
ioyes
acquaint
I
went
poore
pilgrim
to
my
ladies
shrine
To
see
if
she
would
be
my
valentine.
But
woe-alass,
she
was
not
to
be
found,
For
she
was
shifted
to
an
upper-ground.
Good
Iustice
Dudgein-haft,
and
crab-tree
face,
With
bills
and
staues
had
scared
her
from
the
place;
And
now
she
was
compell'd
for
Sanctuarie
To
flye
unto
an
house
of
venerie.
Thither
went
I,
and
bouldlie
made
enquire
If
they
had
hackneis
to
lett-out
to
hire
And
what
they
crau'd
by
order
of
their
trade
To
lett
one
ride
a
iournie
on
a
iade.
Therwith
out
stept
a
foggie
three-chinnd
dame,
That
us'd
to
take
yong
wenches
for
to
tame,
And
ask't
me,
if
I
ment
as
I
profest,
Or
onelie
ask't
a
question
but
in
iest.
In
iest?
quoth
I;
that
terme
it
as
you
will,
I
com
for
game,
therfore
giue
me
my
Jill,
Why
Sir,
quoth
shee,
if
that
be
your
demande,
Come,
laye
me
a
Gods-pennie
in
my
hand;
For,
in
our
Oratorie
siccarlie,
None
enters
heere
to
doe
his
nicerie,
But
he
must
paye
his
offertorie
first,
And
then
perhaps
wee'le
ease
him
of
his
thirst.
I
hearing
hir
so
ernest
for
the
box
Gaue
hir
hir
due,
and
shee
the
dore
unlocks.
In
am
I
entered
:
venus
be
my
speede
;
But
where's
this
female,
that
must
doe
this
deede?
By
blinde
meanders,
and
by
crankled
wayes
Shee
leades
me
onward
(as
my
Aucthor
saies)
Vntill
we
came
within
a
shadie
loft
Where
venus
bounzing
vestalls
skirmish
oft.
And
there
shee
sett
me
in
a
leather
chaire,
And
brought
me
forth
of
prettie
Trulls
a
paire,
To
chuse
of
them
which
might
content
myne
eye;
But
hir
I
sought
I
could
nowhere
espie.
I
spake
them
faire,
and
wisht
them
well
to
fare,
Yett
so
it
is,
I
must
haue
fresher
ware.
Wherfore,
dame
Bawde,
as
daintie
as
yow
bee,
Fetch
gentle
mistris
Francis
forth
to
me.
By
Halliedame,
quoth
she,
and
Gods
oune
mother,
I
well
perceaue
yow
are
a
wylie
brother.
For
if
there
be
a
morsell
of
more
price,
Yow'l
smell
it
out,
though
I
be
ner'e
so
nice.
As
yow
desire,
so
shall
yow
swiue
with
hir,
But
think
your
purse-strings
shall
abye-it
deare
;
For,
he
that
will
eate
quaile's
must
lauish
crounes
;
And
mistris
Francis
in
hir
veluet
goune's
And
ruffs,
and
periwigs
as
fresh
as
Maye,
Can
not
be
kept
with
half
a
croune
a
daye.
Of
price
good
hostess,
we
will
not
debate,
Though
yow
assize
me
at
the
highest
rate
;
Onelie
conduct
me
to
this
bonnie
bell,
And
tenne
good
gobs
I
will
unto
thee
tell
Of
golde
or
siluer,
which
shall
lyke
thee
best,
So
much
doe
I
hir
companie
request.
Awaie
she
went
:
So
sweete
a
thing
is
golde,
That
(mauger)
will
inuade
the
strongest
holde.
Hey-ho,
she
coms,
that
hath
my
heart
in
keepe,
Sing
lullabie
my
cares,
and
falle
a-sleepe.
Sweeping
she
coms,
as
she
would
brush
the
ground,
Hir
ratling
silke's
my
sences
doe
confound.
Oh,
I
am
rauisht
;
voide
the
chamber
streight,
For,
I
must
needs
upon
hir
with
my
weight.
My
Tomalin,
quoth
shee,
and
then
she
smilde,
I,
I,
quoth
I
;
so
more
men
are
beguilde
With
smiles,
with
flatt'ring
worde's,
and
fained
cheere,
When
in
their
deede's
their
falsehood
doeth
appeere.
As
how
my
lambkin?
(blushing,
she
replide)
Because
I
in
this
dancing-schoole
abide?
If
that
be
it,
that
brede's
this
discontent,
We
will
remoue
the
camp
incontinent.
For
shelter
onelie,
sweete
heart
came
I
hither
And
to
auoide
the
troublous
stormie
weather.
But
nowe
the
coast
is
cleare,
we
wilbe
gonne,
Since
but
thy
self,
true
louer
I
haue
none.
With
that
she
sprung
full
lightlie
to
my
lips,
And
fast
about
the
neck
me
colle's
and
clips.
She
wanton
faint's,
and
falle's
upon
hir
bed,
And
often
tosseth
too
and
fro
hir
head.
She
shutts
hir
eyes,
and
waggles
with
hir
tongue:
Oh,
who
is
able
to
abstaine
so
long?
I
com,
I
com;
sweete
lyning
be
thy
leaue,
Softlie
my
fingers,
up
theis
curtaine,
heaue
And
make
me
happie
stealing
by
degreese.
First
bare
hir
leggs,
then
creepe
up
to
hir
kneese.
From
thence
ascend
unto
hir
mannely
thigh.
(A
pox
on
lingring
when
I
am
so
nighe)
Smock
climbe
a-pace,
that
I
maie
see
my
ioyes,
Oh
heauen,
and
paradize
are
all
but
toyes,
Compar'd
with
this
sight,
I
now
behould,
Which
well
might
keepe
a
man
from
being
olde.
A
prettie
rysing
wombe
without
a
weame,
That
shone
as
bright
as
anie
siluer
streame;
And
bare
out
lyke
the
bending
of
an
hill,
At
whose
decline
a
fountaine
dwelleth
still,
That
hath
his
mouth
besett
with
uglie
bryers
Resembling
much
a
duskie
nett
of
wyres.
A
loftie
buttock
barred
with
azure
veine's
Whose
comelie
swelling,
when
my
hand
distreine's
Or
wanton
checketh
with
a
harmeless
stype,
It
makes
the
fruites
of
loue
eftsoone
be
rype
;
And
pleasure
pluckt
too
tymelie
from
the
stemme
To
dye
ere
it
hath
seene
Ierusalem.
Oh
Gods,
that
euer
anie
thing
so
sweete
So
suddenlie
shuld
fade
awaie
and
fleete.
Hir
arme's
are
spread,
and
I
am
all
unarm'd
Lyke
one
with
Ouids
cursed
hemlock
charm'd,
So
are
my
limm's
unwealdie
for
the
fight,
That
spend
their
strength
in
thought
of
hir
delight.
What
shall
I
doe
to
shewe
myself
a
man?
It
will
not
be
for
ought
that
beawtie
can.
I
kisse,
I
clap,
I
feele,
I
view
at
will,
Yett
dead
he
lyes
not
thinking
good
or
ill.
Vnhappie
me,
quoth
shee,
and
wilt'
not
stand?
Com,
lett
me
rubb
and
chafe
it
with
my
hand.
Perhaps
the
sillie
worme
is
labour'd
sore,
And
wearied
that
it
can
doe
no
more.
If
it
be
so
(as
I
am
greate
a-dread)
I
wish
tenne
thousand
times,
that
I
were
dead.
How
ere
it
is;
no
meanes
shall
want
in
me,
That
maie
auaile
to
his
recouerie.
Which
saide,
she
tooke
and
rould
it
on
hir
thigh,
And
when
she
lookt'
on't,
she
would
weepe
and
sighe,
And
dandled
it,
and
dance't
it
up
and
doune,
Not
ceasing,
till
she
rais'd
it
from
his
swoune.
And
then
he
flue
on
hir
as
he
were
wood,
And
on
her
breeche
did
thack,
and
foyne
a-good;
He
rubd',
and
prickt,
and
pierst
hir
to
the
bones,
Digging
as
farre
as
eath
he
might
for
stones.
Now
high,
now
lowe,
now
stryking
short
and
thick
;
Now
dyuing
deepe
he
toucht
hir
to
the
quick.
Now
with
a
gird,
he
would
his
course
rebate;
Streite
would
he
take
him
to
a
statelie
gate,
Plaie
while
him
list
;
and
thrust
he
neare
so
hard,
Poore
pacient
Grisill
lyeth
at
hir
warde,
And
giue's,
and
take's
as
blythe
and
free
as
Maye,
And
ere-more
meete's
him
in
the
midle
waye.
On
him
hir
eyes
continualy
were
fixt,
With
hir
eye-beames
his
melting
looke's
were
mixt,
Which
lyke
the
Sunne,
that
twixt
tuo
glasses
plaies
From
one
to
th'other
cast's
rebounding
rayes.
He
lyke
a
starre,
that
to
reguild
his
beames
Sucks-in
the
influence
of
Phebus
streames,
Imbathe's
the
lynes
of
his
descending
light
In
the
bright
fountaines
of
hir
clearest
sight.
She
faire
as
fairest
Planet
in
the
Skye
Hir
purity
to
no
man
doeth
denye.
The
verie
chamber,
that
enclowds
hir
shine,
Looke's
lyke
the
pallace
of
that
God
deuine,
Who
leade's
the
daie
about
the
zodiake,
And
everie
euen
discends
to
th'Oceane
lake
:
So
fierce
and
feruent
is
hir
radiance,
Such
fyrie
stake's
she
darts
at
euerie
glance,
As
might
inflame
the
icie
limmes
of
age,
And
make
pale
death
his
surquedrie
aswage
To
stand
and
gaze
upon
hir
Orient
lamps
Where
Cupid
all
his
chiefest
ioyes
encamps,
And
sitts,
and
playes
with
euerie
atomie
That
in
hir
Sunne-beames
swarme
aboundantlie.
Thus
gazing,
and
thus
striuing
we
perseuer,
But
what
so
firme,
that
maie
continue
euer?
Oh
not
so
fast,
my
rauisht
Mistriss
cryes,
Least
my
content,
that
on
thy
life
relyes
Be
brought
too-soone
from
his
delightfull
seate,
And
me
unwares
of
hoped
bliss
defeate.
[Togeather
lett
our
equall
motions
stirr
Togeather
let
vs
liue
and
dye
my
deere]
Together
lett
us
marche
unto
content,
And
be
consumed
with
one
blandishment.
As
she
prescrib'd,
so
kept
we
crotchet-time,
And
euerie
stroake
in
ordre
lyke
a
chyme.
Whilst
she,
that
had
preseru'd
me
by
hir
pittie,
Vnto
our
musike
fram'd
a
groaning
dittie.
Alass,
alass,
that
loue
should
be
a
sinne,
Euen
nowe
my
blisse
and
sorrow
doeth
beginne.
Houlde
wyde
thy
lap,
my
louelie
Danae,
And
entretaine
the
golden
shoure
so
free,
That
trilling
falles
into
thy
treasurie,
As
Aprill-drops
not
half
so
pleasant
be,
Nor
Nilus
ouerflowe,
to
Ægipt-plaines,
As
this
sweet-streames,
that
all
hir
ioints
imbaynes
;
With
Oh,
and
Oh,
she
itching
moues
hir
hipps,
And
to
and
fro,
full
lightlie
starts
and
skips.
She
ierks
hir
leggs,
and
sprauleth
with
hir
heeles,
No
tongue
maie
tell
the
solace
that
she
feeles.
I
faint,
I
yeald;
Oh
death
rock
me
a-sleepe
;
Sleepe
-
sleepe
desire,
entombed
in
the
deepe.
Not
so,
my
deare
;
my
dearest
Saint
replyde
;
For,
from
us
yett
thy
spirit
maie
not
glide
Vntill
the
sinnowie
channels
of
our
blood
Withould
their
source
from
this
imprisoned
flood
;
And
then
will
we
(that
then
will
com
to
soone)
Dissolued
lye
as-though
our
dayes
were
donne.
The
whilst
I
speake,
my
soule
is
fleeting
hence,
And
life
forsakes
his
fleshie
residence.
Staie,
staie
sweete
ioye,
and
leaue
me
not
forlorne,
Why
shouldst
thou
fade,
that
art
but
newlie
borne?
Staie
but
an
houre
;
an
houre
is
not
so
much,
But
half
an
houre
;
if
that
thy
haste
be
such
:
Naie
but
a
quarter
;
I
will
aske
no
more,
That
thy
departure
(which
torments
me
sore)
Maie
be
alightned
with
a
little
pause,
And
take
awaie
this
passions
sudden
cause.
He
heare's
me
not,
hard-hearted
as
he
is
:
He
is
the
sonne
of
Time,
and
hate's
my
blisse.
Time
ner'e
looke's
back,
the
riuers
ner'e
returne
;
A
second
spring
must
help
me
or
I
burne.
No,
no,
the
well
is
drye
that
should
refresh
me,
The
glass
is
runne
of
all
my
destinie.
Nature
of
winter
learneth
nigardize,
Who,
as
he
ouer-beare's
the
streame
with
ice,
That
man
nor
beaste
maie
of
their
pleasance
taste,
So
shutts
she
up
hir
conduit
all
in
haste,
And
will
not
let
hir
Nectar
ouer-flowe,
Least
mortall
men
immortall
ioyes
should
knowe.
Adiew
unconstant
loue,
to
thy
disporte,
Adiew
false
mirth,
and
melodie
too-short.
Adiew
faint-hearted
instrument
of
lust,
That
falselie
hast
betrayde
our
equale
trust.
Hence-forth
no
more
will
I
implore
thine
ayde,
Or
thee,
or
men
of
cowardize
upbrayde.
My
little
dildo
shall
supply
their
kinde
:
A
knaue,
that
moues
as
light
as
leaues
by
winde
;
That
bendeth
not,
nor
fouldeth
anie
deale,
But
stands
as
stiff,
as
he
were
made
of
steele,
And
playes
at
peacock
twixt
my
leggs
right
blythe,
And
doeth
my
tickling
swage
with
manie
a
sighe
;
For,
by
Saint
Runnion
he'le
refresh
me
well,
And
neuer
make
my
tender
bellie
swell.
Poor
Priapus,
whose
triumph
now
must
falle,
Except
thow
thrust
this
weakeling
to
the
walle.
Behould
how
he
usurps
in
bed
and
bowre,
And
undermine's
thy
kingdom
euerie
howre.
How
slye
he
creepe's
betwixt
the
barke
and
tree,
And
sucks
the
sap,
whilst
sleepe
detaineth
thee.
He
is
my
Mistris
page
at
euerie
stound,
And
soone
will
tent
a
deepe
intrenched
wound.
He
wayte's
on
Courtlie
Nimphs,
that
be
so
coye,
And
bids
them
skorne
the
blynd-alluring
boye.
He
giue's
yong
guirls
their
gamesom
sustenance,
And
euerie
gaping
mouth
his
full
sufficeance.
He
fortifies
disdaine
with
forraine
artes,
And
wanton-chaste
deludes
all
louing
hearts.
If
anie
wight
a
cruell
mistris
serue's,
Or
in
dispaire
(unhappie)
pines
and
steru's
Curse
Eunuke
dilldo,
senceless,
counterfet,
Who
sooth
maie
fill,
but
neuer
can
begett:
But
if
reuenge
enraged
with
dispaire,
That
such
a
dwarfe
his
wellfare
should
empaire,
Would
faine
this
womans
secretarie
knowe,
Lett
him
attend
the
marks'
that
I
shall
showe.
He
is
a
youth
almost
tuo
handfulls
highe,
Streight,
round,
and
plumb,
yett
hauing
but
one
eye,
Wherin
the
rhewme
so
feruentlie
doeth
raigne,
That
Stigian
gulph
maie
scarce
his
teares
containe
;
Attired
in
white
veluet
or
in
silk,
And
nourisht
with
whott
water
or
with
milk
;
Arm'd
otherwhile
in
thick
congealed
glasse,
When
he
more
glib
to
hell
be
lowe
would
passe,
Vpon
a
charriot
of
fiue
wheeles
he
rydes,
The
which
an
arme
strong
driuer
stedfast
guide's,
And
often
alters
pace,
as
wayes
grow
deepe
;
(For
who
in
pathe's
unknowen,
one
gate
can
keepe?)
Sometimes
he
smoothlie
slideth
doune
the
hill
;
Another
while
the
stones
his
feete
doe
kill
:
In
clammie
waies
he
treaddeth
by
and
by,
And
plasheth
and
sprayeth
all
that
be
him
nye.
So
fares
this
iollie
rider
in
his
race,
Plunging,
and
soursing
forward
in
lyke
case,
Bedasht,
bespurted,
and
beplodded
foule,
God
giue
thee
shame,
thow
blinde
mischapen
owle.
Fy
-
fy
for
grief
;
a
ladies
chamberlaine,
And
canst
not
thow
thy
tatling
tongue
refraine?
I
reade
thee
beardles
blab,
beware
of
stripes,
And
be
aduised
what
thow
vainelie
pipes.
Thow
wilt
be
whipt
with
nettles
for
this
geare
If
Cicelie
shewe
but
of
thy
knauerie
heere.
Saint
Denis
shield
me
from
such
female
sprites.
Regarde
not
Dames,
what
Cupid's
Poete
writes.
I
pennd
this
storie
onelie
for
my
self,
Who
giuing
suck
unto
a
childish
Elfe,
And
quite
discourag'd
in
my
nurserie,
Since
all
my
store
seemes
to
hir,
penurie.
I
am
not
as
was
Hercules
the
stout,
That
to
the
seauenth
iournie
could
hould
out.
I
want
those
hearbe's
and
rootes
of
Indian
soile,
That
strengthen
wearie
members
in
their
toile
;
Druggs
and
Electuaries
of
new
deuise
Doe
shunne
my
purse
;
that
trembles
at
the
price.
Sufficeth,
all
I
haue,
I
yeald
hir
hole,
Which
for
a
poore
man
is
a
princelie
dole.
I
paie
our
hostess
scott
and
lott
at
moste,
And
looke
as
leane
and
lank
as
anie
ghoste.
What
can
be
added
more
to
my
renowne?
She
lyeth
breathlesse,
I
am
taken
doune,
The
waues
doe
swell,
the
tydes
climbe
or'e
the
banks,
Iudge
gentlemen
if
I
deserue
not
thanks,
And
so
good
night
unto
yow
eue'rie
one,
For
loe,
our
threed
is
spunne,
our
plaie
is
donne.
Claudito
iam
riuos
Priape,
sat
prata
biberunt.
Thus
hath
my
penne
presum'd
to
please
my
friend
;
Oh
mightst
thow
lykewise
please
Apollo's
eye.
No:
Honor
brooke's
no
such
impietie
;
Yett
Ouids
wanton
Muse
did
not
offend.
He
is
the
fountain
whence
my
streames
doe
flowe.
Forgiue
me
if
I
speake
as
I
was
taught,
A
lyke
to
women,
utter
all
I
knowe,
As
longing
to
unlade
so
bad
a
fraught.
My
mynde
once
purg'd
of
such
lasciuious
witt,
With
purifide
word's,
and
hallowed
verse
Thy
praises
in
large
volumes
shall
rehearce,
That
better
maie
thy
grauer
view
befitt.
Meanewhile
yett
rests,
yow
smile
at
what
I
write,
Or
for
attempting,
banish
me
your
sight.
