To The Most Fair And Lovely Mistress Anne Soame, Now Lady Abdie.

So smell those odours that do rise     From out the wealthy spiceries;     So smells the flower of blooming clove,     Or roses smother'd in the stove;     So smells the air of spiced wine,     Or essences of jessamine;     So smells the breath about the hives     When well the work of honey thrives,     And all the busy factors come     Laden with wax and honey home;     So smell those neat and woven bowers     All over-arch'd with orange flowers,     And almond blossoms that do mix     To make rich these aromatics;     So smell those bracelets and those bands     Of amber chaf'd between the hands,     When thus enkindled they transpire     A noble perfume from the fire;     The wine of cherries, and to these     The cooling breath of respasses;     The smell of morning's milk and cream,     Butter of cowslips mix'd with them;     Of roasted warden or bak'd pear,     These are not to be reckon'd here,     Whenas the meanest part of her,     Smells like the maiden pomander.     Thus sweet she smells, or what can be     More lik'd by her or lov'd by me.