Classic Poem

Quod amet mulieres, cuiuscunque formae sint

I mean not to defend the scapes of any,
Or justify my vices being many.
For I confess, if that might merit favour,
Here I display my lewd and loose behaviour.
I loathe, yet after that I loathe I run;
O how the burden irks, that we should shun.
I cannot rule myself, but where love please
Am driven like a ship upon rough seas.
No one face likes me best, all faces move,
A hundred reasons make me ever love.
If any eye me with a modest look,
I burn, and by that blushful glance am took.
And she that's coy I like, for being no clown,
Methinks she would be nimble when she's down.
Though her sour looks a Sabine's brow resemble,
I think she'll do, but deeply can dissemble.
If she be learned, then for her skill I crave her;
If not, because she's simple I would have her.
Before Callimachus one prefers me far;
Seeing she likes my books, why should we jar?
Another rails at me, and that I write;
Yet would I lie with her if that I might.
Trips she, it likes me well; plods she, what then?
She would be nimbler, lying with a man.
And when one sweetly sings, then straight I long
To quaver on her lips even in her song.
Or if one touch the lute with art and cunning,
Who would not love those hands for their swift running?
And her I like that with a majesty
Folds up her arms and makes low courtesy.
To leave myself, that am in love with all,
Some one of these might make the chastest fall.
If she be tall, she's like an Amazon,
And therefore fills the bed she lies upon;
If short, she lies the rounder; to say troth,
Both short and long please me, for I love both.
I think what one undecked would be, being dressed;
Is she attired? then show her graces best.
A white wench thralls me, so doth golden yellow;
And nut-brown girls in doing have no fellow.
If her white neck be shadowed with black hair,
Why, so was Leda's, yet was Leda fair.
Amber-tressed is she? then on the morn think I;
My love alludes to every history.
A young wench pleaseth, and an old is good:
This for her looks, that for her womanhood.
Nay what is she that any Roman loves
But my ambitious ranging mind approves?