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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 day are past the best,
Simply I credit her false-speaking tongue;
On both sides thus is simple truth suppressed.

But wherefore says she not she is unjust,
And wherefore say not I that I am old?
O, love's best habits 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 lie we flattered be.