In the Victorian era, and into the 20th century, lovers exchanged elaborate lace-trimmed cards on Valentine’s Day, expressing their undying love and devotion with sentiments and poems. For those not on good terms, or who wanted to fend off an enemy or unwanted suitor, “vinegar valentines” offered a stinging alternative. Their grotesque drawings caricatured common stereotypes and insulted a recipient’s physical attributes, lack of a marriage partner or character traits.
The Museum of East Dorset has one of the finest collections in the country and Wimborne Community Theatre used the words from cards in the collection to create the Valentine’s Scene. They ranged from loving and sentimental to downright insulting!
My Valentine, my lovely maid,
Kind, gentle, fair and free.
In all thy dearest charms arrayed,
How few are found like thee!
Thy image always fills my mind.
So may your heart approve,
Since fixed to thee alone, I find
I need no other love.
It is the heart….that heart is thine
In all of its purest feelings
And, even then, my Valentine,
It sends its true revealings.”
“I will ask no other treasure
Than the music of thy voice;
And in love’s own fondest measure,
Will my faithful heart rejoice.”
Can you, dear girl, my suit withstand?
To join with me in heart and hand.
Have you not made up your mind
At yonder church there to be joined?
Cupid waits to hear you say
When you’ll name the wedding day.
Let us then no longer wait
To enter in that happy state.
My life I dedicate to thee,
and own myself no longer free.
From a Lady to a Rake:
“Think not, gay Deceiver,
I’m a fond believer;
Your promises are air:
O, long did I discover
You’re a general lover,
Attach’d to any fair.
Let whatever belle come,
You will make her welcome, –
Soft nonsense you’ve by heart:
Let her though be wary,
Or your strange vagary
May cause a lasting smart.”
“Oh, let us hasten to this shrine,
Which mutual bliss secures,
That all your raptures may be mine,
And all my joy be yours!”
You would be thought a swell full blown
By every girl who passes
Make no mistake! They write you down
The greatest of all asses!
Before I tell you whom I love,
I’ll tell you whom I hate:
I hate a fair that can’t be true,
A fair that’s fond of prate.
I hate the girl that’s fond of drink,
And takes it on the sly:
She never can have sense to think –
Away from such I’d fly.
I hate a fair that’s fond of airs,
For pride is very bad;
And who neglects her house affairs,
By being prone to gad.
“My pleasant pig-faced gentleman
You may persuade me, if you can
To marry you and thus intrude
Among the swinish multitude.
You are a pig in mind – nay, more
Your manners make you quite a bore
So look among your fellow Swine
For a more fitting Valentine!”