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