Sonnet IX: Love was layd downe, all wearie fast

Love was layd downe, all wearie fast asleepe,
Whereas my love his armour tooke away,
The boye awak'd, and straight began to weepe,
But stood amaz'd, and knew not what to say:
Weepe not, my boy, said Venus to her sonne,
Thy weapons, non can weild, but thou alone,
Lycia the faire, this harme to thee hath done,
I sawe her here, and presentlie was gone,
She will restore them, for she hath no need,
To take thy weapons, where thy valour lies,
For men to wound, the Fates have her decreed,
With favour, handes, with beautie, and with eies,
No, Venus no: she scornes them (credite me)
But robb'd thy sonne, that none might care for thee.