Read more poems by William Shakespeare: William Shakespeare Poems at Poetry X.
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.
Added: 2 Sep 2001 | Last Read: 20 Jun 2013 4:25 AM | Viewed: 5747 times