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.
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