CXXXVII.

Thou blind fool, Love, what doft thou to mine
That they behold, and see not what they see?
They know what beauty is, fee where it lies,
Yet what the best is take the worst to be.
If eyes, corrupt by over-partial looks,

eyes,

Be anchor'd in the bay where all men ride,
Why of eyes' falsehood haft thou forged hooks,
Whereto the judgement of my heart is tied?
Why should
my heart think that a several plot
Which my heart knows the wide world's common

Or mine eyes seeing this, say this is not,
To put fair truth upon fo foul a face?

[place?

In things right true my heart and eyes have erred, And to this falfe plague are they now transferred.

When

CXXXVIII.

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.

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 fides thus is fimple truth supprest.
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:
Therefore I lie with her, and she with me,
And in our faults by lies we flatter'd be.