sonnet

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 evilTempteth 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 fiendSuspect 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.