When my love swears that she is made of truth (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,
Unlearnèd 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.
But wherefore says she not she is unjust?
And wherefore say not I that I am old?
Oh, 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 flattered be.
Notes
There is a peculiar intimacy in knowing someone is lying and choosing to believe them anyway. In William Shakespeare’s Sonnet 138, two lovers quietly participate in a shared deception. She insists upon her faithfulness, while he pretends to believe her, concealing his awareness of her dishonesty and his anxiety about growing older. Both understand more than they are willing to admit, yet neither wishes to disturb the fragile arrangement between them. Their relationship survives through a mutual agreement to preserve appearances. Perhaps love sometimes depends upon the stories two people allow each other to tell, even when both recognize their contradictions. The deception becomes a form of intimacy, sustained by the very people it deceives. For November’s The Mask, and this week's The Theatre of Everyday Life, Shakespeare reveals how performance extends into our most private relationships. We learn to inhabit the roles of faithful lovers, trusting partners, and desirable companions, even when our experiences complicate those identities. The sonnet leaves us with an uncomfortable possibility. Sometimes we maintain a fiction together because admitting the truth would mean confronting what our relationship has become. #WilliamShakespeare #EnglishPoetry #ShakespeareSonnets #LoveAndDeception #SocialPerformance