A Jet Ring Sent

• Thou art not so black as my heart,
• Nor half so brittle as her heart, thou art;
• What would'st thou say? shall both our properties by thee be spoke,
• —Nothing more endless, nothing sooner broke?
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• Marriage rings are not of this stuff;
• Oh, why should ought less precious, or less tough
• Figure our loves? except in thy name thou have bid it say,
• "—I 'm cheap, and nought but fashion; fling me away."
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• Yet stay with me since thou art come,
• Circle this finger's top, which didst her thumb;
• Be justly proud, and gladly safe, that thou dost dwell with me;
• She that, O! broke her faith, would soon break thee.