- 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.