William Shakespeare. 1564–1616

The Passionate Pilgrim, I.

“When my love swears that she is made of truth”

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.