Sonnet 144

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 colored 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, 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.