- 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.