Weary was love and sought to take his rest, <br />He made his choice, upon a virgin's lap; <br />And slyly crept from thence unto her breast, <br />Where still he meant to sport him in his hap; <br />The virgin frowned like Phœbus in a cloud; <br />Go pack, sir boy, here is no room for such, <br />My breast no wanton foolish boy must shroud." <br />This said, my love did give the wag a touch; <br />Then as the foot that treads the stinging snake <br />Hastes to be gone, for fear what may ensue, <br />So love my love was forced for to forsake, <br />And for more speed, without his arrows flew. <br />"Pardon," he said, "For why? You seemed to me <br />My mother Venus in her pride to be."<br /><br />Giles Fletcher The Elder<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/licia-sonnets-02/
