Sonnet Cxliv

William Shakespeare

     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, but 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.

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