Sonnet 114

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, 4To 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? 8O, '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: 12If it be poison'd, 'tis the lesser sinThat mine eye loves it and doth first begin.

1 Or whether doth: is it true that5 indigest: formless10 kingly: like a king11 what . . . 'greeing: what agrees with the mind's taste13, 14 Cf. n.