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 colour'd 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 turn'd 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.
