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 colourd 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 turnd fiend,
Suspect I may, yet not directly tell;
But being both from me, both to each friend,
I guess one angel in anothers hell:
Yet this shall I neer know, but live in doubt,
Till my bad angel fire my good one out.
The Sonnets CXLIV - Two loves I have of comfort and despair
William Shakespeare
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