A Ring Presented to Julia

Julia, I bring

 To thee this Ring.

Made for thy finger fit;

 To shew by this,

 That our love is

(Or sho'd be) like to it.

 Close though it be,

 The joynt is free:

So when Love's yoke is on,

 It must not gall,

 Or fret at all

With hard oppression.

 But it must play

 Still either way;

And be, too, such a yoke,

 As not too wide,

 To over-slide;

Or be so strait to choak.

 So we, who beare,

 The beame, must reare

Our selves to such a height:

 As that the stay

 Of either may

Create the burden light.

 And as this round

 Is no where found

To flaw, or else to sever:

 So let our love

 As endless prove;

And pure as Gold for ever.