Sonnet 20

A woman's face with nature's own hand painted Hast thou, the master mistress of my passion A woman's gentle heart but not acquainted With shifting change as is false women's 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 men's eyes and women's 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 prick'd thee out for women's pleasure Mine be thy love and thy love's use their treasure