Letras
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 whereon 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 fair and doting
And by addition me of thee defating
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