Sonnet II: Wearie was love, and sought to take

Wearie was love, and sought to take his rest,
He made his choice, uppon a virgins lappe:
And slylie crept, from thence unto her breast,
Where still he meant, to sport him in his happe,
The virgin frown'd, like Phoebus in a cloude,
Go packe sir boy, here is no roome for y
My breast no wanton foolish boyes must shroude;
This saide, my Love did giue the wagge a tuch,
Then as the foot, that treads the stinging snake,
Hastes to be gone, for feare what may ensewe,
So love, my love, was forst for to forsake,
And for more speede, without his arrowes flewe.
Pardon (he saide) for why you seem'd to me,
My mother Venus, in her pride to be.