In this sonnet, the speaker frankly admits he’s so smitten that his moral compass keeps shorting out. He begins by joking that love is too immature to know what conscience even is—then immediately turns the logic on its head: maybe we only learn conscience through loving in the first place. Addressing his lover as a “gentle cheater,” he warns her not to scold his slip-ups, because if she leads him on, she becomes complicit in his fleshly sins. The middle of the poem gets playfully physical. His soul gives his body a green light to chase pleasure, and at the mere whisper of her name, he’s aroused—picturing her as a “triumphant prize.” Proud of his own lusty response, he’s perfectly willing to be her devoted drudge, to stand for her and fall beside her. The closing couplet winks at the whole affair: don’t accuse him of shamelessness for calling this woman “love,” since it’s for her dear love that he rises and falls. The mood mixes sly humor with genuine erotic heat, a knowing smile that passion rarely asks permission.
Sonnet 151: Love is too young to know what conscience is — Summary
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.