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.