Sonnet 138

When my love swears that she is made of truth

I do believe her, though I know she lies

That she might think me some untutored youth

Unlearned in the world's false subtleties

Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young

Although she knows my days are past the best

Simply I credit her false speaking tongue

On both sides thus is simple truth suppressed

O, I lie with her, and she lies with me

In our faults by lies we flattered be

But wherefore says she not she is unjust?

And wherefore say not I that I am old?

O, love's best habit is in seeming trust

And age in love loves not t' have years told

I lie with her, and she lies with me

In our faults by lies we flattered be