Sonnet 20
b'
A woman\\u2019s face with Nature\\u2019s own hand painted
Hast thou, the master mistress of my passion;
A woman\\u2019s gentle heart but not acquainted
With shifting change as is false women\\u2019s 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\\u2019s eyes and women\\u2019s 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.
\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 But since she prick\\u2019d thee out for women\\u2019s pleasure,
\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 Mine be thy love, and thy love\\u2019s use their treasure.