Sonnet 114
Or whether doth my mind, being crowned 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 indigestSuch 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 poisoned, 'tis the lesser sinThat mine eye loves it and doth first begin.