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 coloured 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, 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.