Having
made it through this last week without skipping the blog J I’m now hopeful that my thin five-day margin
for the whole project might actually be enough
J Sonnet twenty today:
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XX
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.
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Easy: The volta is the but at the beginning of the closing couplet J
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