Act I, Scene 1

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• 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.