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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