Sonnet 138

　　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 supprest.

　　But wherefore says she not she is unjust，

　　And wherefore sa