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