How sweetly doth MY MASTER sound; MY MASTER!
As ambergris leaves a rich scent
Unto the taster:
So do these words a sweet content,
An oriental fragrancy: MY MASTER!

With these all day I do perfume my mind,
My mind even thrust into them both:
That I might find
What cordials make this curious broth,
This broth of smells, that feeds and fats my mind.

MY MASTER, shall I speak? Oh, that, to Thee,
My servant were a little so,
As flesh may be:
That these two words might creep and grow
To some degree of spiciness to Thee!

Then should the Pomander, which was before
A speaking sweet, mend by reflection,
And tell me more.
For pardon of my imperfection
Would warm and work it sweeter than before.

For when MY MASTER (which alone is sweet,
And even in my unworthiness pleasing)
Shall call, and meet
MY SERVANT, as Thee not displeasing;
That call is but the breathing of the sweet.

This breathing would with gains, by sweetening me
(As sweet things traffic when they meet),
Return to Thee;
And so this new commerce and sweet
Should, all my life, employ and busy me.

HERBERT.