The Token
- Send me some token, that my hope may live,
- Or that my easeless thoughts may sleep and rest;
- Send me some honey to make sweet my hive,
- That in my passions I may hope the best.
- I beg no riband wrought with thine own hands,
- To knit our loves in the fantastic strain
- Of new-touched youth; nor ring to show the stands
- Of our affection, that as that’s round and plain,
- So should our loves meet in simplicity;
- No, nor the corals which thy wrist enfold,
- Laced up together in congruity,
- To show our thoughts should rest in the same hold;
- No, nor thy picture, though most gracious,
- And most desired, because best like the best;
- Nor witty lines, which are most copious,
- Within the writings which thou hast addressed.
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- Send me nor this, nor that, to increase my store,
- But swear thou think'st ‘I love thee,’ and no more.
From: Songs and Sonnets, 1633.
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