A womans face with natures own hand painted,
Hast thou, the master mistress of my passion;
A womans gentle heart, but not acquainted
With shifting change, as is false womens fashion:
An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling,
Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth;
A man in hue all hues in his controlling,
Which steals mens eyes and womens souls amazeth.
And for a woman wert thou first created;
Till Nature, as she wrought thee, fell a-doting,
And by addition me of thee defeated,
By adding one thing to my purpose nothing.
But since she prickd thee out for womens pleasure,
Mine be thy love and thy loves use their treasure.
The Sonnets XX - A womans face with natures own hand painted
William Shakespeare
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