Sonnet 138
When my love swears that she is made
of truth
«William Shakespeare»
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:
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 flattered be.
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