when my love swears that she is made of truth
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
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?
love's best habit is in seeming trust
and age in love loves not t' have years told. i lie with her
in our faults by lies we flattered be.