The Judgment of Bishop Valentine

One tyme a Youthe of faire degree
Didde looke upon a Mayde. Ah me,
She was as coye as anye flow’r,
She stole hys harte in thatte sayme how’r.
Alle vainlie he to Love didde calle,
Ye blinde Godde holp hym notte atte alle.
To Bishop Valentine thenne hies
Ye Youthe, ye Damosel likewyse,
Ande each ’gan tell hys tayle of griefe.
Each sayd ye other was ye thiefe.
“Zounds!” cried ye Sainte, “this brawle must cease.
I’ll binde ye bothe to keepe ye peace.”
Whereat ye twain in nowyse loath,
“Pray then wyth one bond binde us bothe.”
Loude laughed ye Sainte, “Perdi! ’Tis done!”
And made ye Youthe and Mayden one.
* * * * *
Lady, anent this suit of mine
In search of precedents, I waded
Through ancient lore, and found this fine
Old Judgment, in a parchment faded.
If you will ponder the last line
And be by wise example aided,
We, too, will make Saint Valentine
Our Judge, and—compromise, as they did.