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 pricked thee out for women's pleasure,
- Mine be thy love, and thy love's use their treasure.
SONNET #20
by: William Shakespeare (1564-1616)