Sonnet by William Shakespeare

love is too young to know what conscience is; yet who knows 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 l do Betray my nobler part to my grass 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 contended 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 l rise and fall 😇