Of a poynted Diamond giuen by the Author to his wife, at the birth of his eldest sonne

DEare, I to thee this Diamond commend,
In which, a modell of thy selfe I send,
How lust vnto thy ioynts this circlet sitteth,
So iust thy face and shape my fancies fitteth.
The touch will try this Ring of purest gold,
My touch tries thee as pure, though softer mold.
That metall precious is, the stone is true
As true, as then how much more precious you?
The Gem is cleare, and hath nor needes no foyle,
Thy face, nay more, thy fame is free from soile.
oule deem this deare, because from me you haue it,
deem your faith more deer, because you gaue it.
This pointed Diamond cuts glasse and steele,
Your loues like force in my firme heart I feele.
But this, as all things else, time wasts with wearing,
Where you, my Iewels multiply with bearing.