A Jet Ring Sent

by John Donne

　　 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.