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