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 untutor'd 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 suppress'd.
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 to have years told:
Therefore I lie with her and she with me,
And in our faults by lies we flatter'd be.
More verses by William Shakespeare
- Sonnets Xxxiii: Full Many A Glorious Morning Have I Seen
- Sonnet Xxxii: If Thou Survive My Well-Contented Day
- Sonnet I: From Fairest Creatures We Desire Increase
- Sonnets Cx: Alas, 'Tis True I Have Gone Here And There
- Sonnet Ii: When Forty Winters Shall Besiege Thy Brow