Thou art not so black as my heart,
Nor half so brittle as her heart thou art;
What wouldst 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 aught less precious or less tough
Figure our loves? Except in thy name thou have bid it say,
I am 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, oh, broke her faith, would soon break thee.