Classic Poem

Love still a boy, and oft a wanton is,
Schooled only by his mother's tender eye;
What wonder then if he his lesson miss,
When for so soft a rod dear play he try?
And yet my star, because a sugared kiss
In sport I sucked, while she asleep did lie,
Doth lour, nay chide; nay, threat for only this:
Sweet, it was saucy Love, not humble I.
But no 'scuse serves, she makes her wrath appear
In beauty's throne; see now who dares come near
Those scarlet judges, threat'ning bloody pain?
O heav'nly fool, thy most kiss-worthy face
Anger invests with such a lovely grace
That anger's self I needs must kiss again.