William+Shakespeare+-+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.//