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XX.
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,
Much 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.
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