“ A woman´s face, with nature´s own hand painted,
Hast thou , the máster-mistress of my passion;
A woman´s gentle heart, but not acquainted
With shifting change, as is woman´s fashion;
An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling,
Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth;
Which steals men´s eyes, and women´s souls amazeth.
Till Nature , as she wrought thee, fell adoting,
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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