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Shakespeare Sonnet-a-Day

Sonnet #151

Posted:

CLI.

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 father 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