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Token, TheToken, The
SEND me some tokens, that my hope may live
Or that my easeless thoughts may sleep and rest ;
Send me some honey, to make sweet my hive,
That in my passions I may hope the best.
I beg nor ribbon wrought with thine own hands,
To knit our loves in the fantastic strain
Of new-touch`d youth ; nor ring to show the stands
Of our affection, that, as that`s round and plain,
So should our loves meet in simplicity ;
No, nor the corals, which thy wrist enfold,
Laced up together in congruity,
To show our thoughts should rest in the same hold ;
No, nor thy picture, though most gracious,
And most desired, `cause `tis like the best
Nor witty lines, which are most copious,
Within the writings which thou hast address`d.
Send me nor this nor that, to increase my score,
But swear thou think`st I love thee, and no more.
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