Sonnet 151
Love is too young to know what
conscience is
«William Shakespeare»
Love is too young to know what conscience is,
Yet who knows not
conscience is born of love?
Then gentle cheater
urge not my amiss,
Lest guilty of my
faults thy sweet self prove.
For thou betraying
me, I do betray
My nobler part to my
gross body's treason,
My soul doth tell my
body that he may,
Triumph in love,
flesh stays no farther reason,
But rising at thy
name doth point out thee,
As his triumphant
prize, proud of this pride,
He is contented thy
poor drudge to be,
To stand in thy
affairs, fall by thy side.
No want of conscience
hold it that I call,
Her love, for whose
dear love I rise and fall.
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