279O carue not with thy howers my loues faire brow,

280Nor draw noe lines there with thine antique pen,

281Him in thy course vntainted doe allow,

282For beauties patterne to succeding men.

283 Yet doe thy worst ould Time dispight thy wrong,

284My loue shall in my verse euer liue young.

286A Womans face with natures owne hand painted,

287Haste thou the Master Mistris of my passion,

288A womans gentle hart but not acquainted

289With shifting change as is false womens fashion,

290An eye more bright then theirs, lesse false in rowling:

291Gilding the obiect where-vpon it gazeth,

292A man in hew all Hews in his controwling,

293Which steales mens eyes and womens soules amaseth.

294And for a woman wert thou first created,

295Till nature as she wrought thee fell a dotinge,

296And by addition me of thee defeated,

297By adding one thing to my purpose nothing.

298 But since she prickt thee out for womens pleasure,

299Mine be thy loue and thy loues vse their treasure.

301SO is it not with me as with that Muse,

302Stird by a painted beauty to his verse,

303Who heauen it selfe for ornament doth vse,

304And euery faire with his faire doth reherse,

305Making a coopelment of proud compare

306With Sunne and Moone, with earth and seas rich gems:

307With Aprills first borne flowers and all things rare,

308That heauens ayre in this huge rondure hems,

309O let me true in loue but truly write,

310And then beleeue me, my loue is as faire,

311As any mothers childe, though not so bright

312As those gould candells fixt in heauens ayer:

313 Let them say more that like of heare-say well,

314 I will not prayse that purpose not to sell.