dad
WHEN my love swears that she is made of truth,
dad
I do believe her, though I know she lies,
dad
That she might think me some untutorıd youth,
dad
Unskilful in the worldıs false forgeries.
dad
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,
dad
Although I know my years be past the best,
dad
I smiling credit her false-speaking tongue,
dad
Outfacing faults in love with loveıs ill rest.
dad
But wherefore says my love that she is young?
dad
And wherefore say not I that I am old?
dad
O, loveıs best habit is a soothing tongue,
dad
And age, in love, loves not to have years told.
dad 
    Therefore Iıll lie with love, and love with me,
 dad
    Since that our faults in love thus smotherıd be.