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.