Two loves I have of comfort and despair,Which like two spirits do suggest me still,The better angel is a man right fair:
The worser spirit a woman coloured ill.
To win me soon to hell my female evil,Tempteth my better angel from my side,And would corrupt my saint to be a devil:
Wooing his purity with her foul pride.
And whether that my angel be turned fiend,Suspect I may, yet not directly tell,But being both from me both to each friend,I guess one angel in another's hell.
Yet this shall I ne'er know but live in doubt,Till my bad angel fire my good one out.
