Sonnet XX
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A woman's face with Nature's own hand painted | 1
Hast thou, the master-mistress of my passion; | 2
A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted | 3
With shifting change, as is false women's fashion; | 4
An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling, | 5
Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth; | 6
A man in hue, all 'hues' in his controlling, | 7
Much steals men's eyes and women's souls amazeth. | 8
And for a woman wert thou first created; | 9
Till Nature, as she wrought thee, fell a-doting, | 10
And by addition me of thee defeated, | 11
By adding one thing to my purpose nothing. | 12
But since she prick'd thee out for women's pleasure, | 13
Mine be thy love and thy love's use their treasure. | 14
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