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