CXLIV. Two loves I have of comfort and despair
        
          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.