Sonnet 20

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,

Which 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.

A man with a woman’s face

(And women are the masters of my passion),

You have a kind heart, but no disgrace,

No manipulation of others by fashion.

Your eyes are brighter, more honest

Than some women’s, causing mine to shine too.

Yet all man’s strength you manifest,

Captivating all people through and through.

If you had been a woman by nature,

Had she not made you male,

Maybe you would have been a creature

More lovely to me still.

But since she extended you more by her measure,

Let me have your soul, their bodies your pleasure.