The Choise of Valentines/Post-script


 * Thus hath my penne presum'd to please my friend&mdash;
 * Oh mightst thou lykewise please Apollo's eye.
 * No, Honor brooke's no such impietie,
 * Yett Ouids wanton Muse did not offend.


 * He is the fountaine whence my streames doe flowe&mdash;
 * Forgive 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 words and hallowed verse,
 * Thy praises in large volumes shall rehearce,
 * That better maie thy grauer view befitt.


 * Meanewhile yett rests, you smile at what I write;
 * Or, for attempting, banish me your sight.