Sonnet 144

Two loves I have of comfort and dispaire,

Which like two spirits do sugiest me still,

The better angell is a man right faire:

The worser spirit a woman collour'd il.

To win me soone to hell my femall evill,

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.