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,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 poison'd, 'tis the lesser sin That mine eye loves it and doth first begin.
My head and my eyes are embattled;it seems that their keenness my cad dulled.Because he's so hot,my mind's gone to pot.I drink from his love and I'm addled.