118    [from Sonnets]

138

When my love sweares that she is made of truth,

I do beleeve her though I know she lyes,

That she might thinke me some untuterd youth,

Unlearned in the worlds false subtilties.

5          Thus vainely thinking that she thinkës me young,

Although she knowes my dayes are past the best,

Simply I credit her false speaking tongue,

On both sides thus is simple truth supprest:

But wherefore sayes she not she is unjust?

10        And wherefore say not I that I am old?

O loves best habit is in seeming trust,

And age in love, loves not to have yeares told.

Therefore I lye with her, and she with me,

And in our faults by lyes we flattered be.