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