Sonnet 72

LOue still a Boy, and oft a vvanton is,
Schoolde only by his Mothers tender eye:
What vvonder then if he his lesson misse,
When for so soft a rod deare play he trye.
And yet my starre, because a sugred kisse,
In sport I sucke, while she a sleepe doth lye:
Doth lowre, naye chide, nay threat for onely this:
Sweet it was saucy loue, that prest so nye.
But no scuse serues, she makes her vvrath appeare
In Beauties throne, see now who dares come neere
Those scarlet Iudges, threatning blooddie paine.
O heauenly Foole, thy most kisse worthy face
Anger invests with such a louely grace,
That Angers selfe I needes must kisse againe.