Ten Sonets to Philomel: Vpon sending her a gold ring with this Posie

Pure and Endlesse.
If you would know the love which I you beare,
Compare it to the Ring which your faire hand
Shall make more precious, when you shall it weare:
So my loues nature you shall vnderstand.
Is it of mettall pure? so you shall proue
My loue, which ne're disloyall thought did staine.
Hath it no end? so endlesse is my loue,
Vnlesse you it destroy with your disdaine.
Doth it the purer waxe the more tis tride?
So doth my loue: yet herein they dissent,
That whereas gold the more t'is purifide
By waxing lesse, doth shew some part is spent:
My loue doth waxe more pure by your more trying,
And yet encreaseth in the purifying.