Shakespeare. When my love swears that she is made of truth
1920 I do believe her, though I know she lies,
That she might think me some untutor'd 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,
1925 Simply I credit her false speaking tongue:
On both sides thus is simple truth suppress'd.
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,
1930 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 flatter'd be.