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| Or whether doth my mind, being crown'd with you, | 1 |
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| Drink up the monarch's plague, this flattery? |
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| Or whether shall I say, mine eye saith true, |
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| And that your love taught it this alchemy, |
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| To make of monsters and things indigest | 5 |
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| Such cherubins as your sweet self resemble, |
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| Creating every bad a perfect best, |
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| As fast as objects to his beams assemble? |
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| O! 'tis the first, 'tis flattery in my seeing, |
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| And my great mind most kingly drinks it up: | 10 |
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| Mine eye well knows what with his gust is 'greeing, |
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| And to his palate doth prepare the cup: |
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 If it be poison'd, 'tis the lesser sin |
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| That mine eye loves it and doth first begin. |
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