Sonnet 1Sonnet 3Sonnet 12Sonnet 18Sonnet 19Sonnet 20Sonnet 29Sonnet 30Sonnet 33Sonnet 55Sonnet 60Sonnet 65Sonnet 71Sonnet 73Sonnet 94Sonnet 106Sonnet 116Sonnet 126Sonnet 127Sonnet 129Sonnet 130Sonnet 138Sonnet 144Sonnet 146Sonnet 147
Original Text
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, Unlearned in the world’s false subtleties.
Original Text
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:
Original Text
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, And age in love, loves not to have years told:
Original Text
Therefore I lie with her, and she with me, And in our faults by lies we flatter’d be.
