Classic Poem

How sweetly doth My Master sound! My Master !
As Ambergris leaves a rich sent
Unto the taster:
So do these words a sweet content,
An oriental fragranciy, My Master .
With these all day I do perfume my mind,
My mind ev’n 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? O 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 then before.
For when My Master , which alone is sweet,
And ev'n 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 sweet'ning 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.