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? 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." 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.