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