CXIV. Or whether doth my mind, being crown'd with you
        
          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:
          Mineeye 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.