Sonnet 138. 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 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: