To the Most Fair and Lovely Mistress Anne Soame, Now Lady Abdie

So smell those odours that do riseFrom 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 hivesWhen well the work of honey thrives,And all the busy factors comeLaden with wax and honey home;So smell those neat and woven bowersAll over-arch'd with orange flowers,And almond blossoms that do mixTo make rich these aromatics;So smell those bracelets and those bandsOf amber chaf'd between the hands,When thus enkindled they transpireA noble perfume from the fire;The wine of cherries, and to theseThe 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 beMore lik'd by her or lov'd by me.