Act I, Scene 20

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• Shakespeare. 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; 270
  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; 275
  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. 280