The Passionate Pilgrim

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Act I, Scene 1


  • 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 untutor'd youth,
    Unskilful in the world's false forgeries.
    Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young, 5
    Although I know my years be past the best,
    I smiling credit her false-speaking tongue,
    Outfacing faults in love with love's ill rest.
    But wherefore says my love that she is young?
    And wherefore say not I that I am old? 10
    O, love's best habit is a soothing tongue,
    And age, in love, loves not to have years told.
    Therefore I'll lie with love, and love with me,
    Since that our faults in love thus smother'd be.

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