Sonnet II. Weary was Love, and sought to take his rest

Giles Fletcher (1586?–1623)

WEARY was LOVE, and sought to take his rest.

He made his choice upon a Virgin’s lap;

And slyly crept from thence into her breast,

Where still he meant to sport him in his hap.

The Virgin frowned, like PHŒBUS in a cloud,

“Go pack, sir boy, here is no room for such!

My breast, no wanton foolish boys must shroud!”

This said, my Love did give the Wag a touch.

Then as the foot, that treads the stinging snake,

Hastes to be gone, for fear what may ensue:

So LOVE, my Love was forced for to forsake;

And, for more speed, without his arrows flew.

“Pardon!” he said, “for why you seemed to me,

My mother VENUS in her pride to be.”