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.