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Sonnet CXIV
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| Or whether doth my mind, being crown'd with you, | 1
| Drink up the monarch's plague, this flattery? | 2
| Or whether shall I say, mine eye saith true, | 3
| And that your love taught it this alchemy, | 4
| To make of monsters and things indigest | 5
| Such cherubins as your sweet self resemble, | 6
| Creating every bad a perfect best, | 7
| As fast as objects to his beams assemble? | 8
| O,'tis the first; 'tis flattery in my seeing, | 9
| And my great mind most kingly drinks it up: | 10
| Mine eye well knows what with his gust is 'greeing, | 11
| And to his palate doth prepare the cup: | 12
| If it be poison'd, 'tis the lesser sin | 13
| That mine eye loves it and doth first begin. | 14
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