To his Ring giuen to his Ladie, wherein was grauen this Verse. My hart is yours

THough thou (my King) be small,
and slender be thy price:
Yet hast thou in thy compasse coucht
a Louers true deuice.
And though no Rubie red,
ne Turkesse trim thy top,
Nor other Iuell that commends
the golden Vulcans shop:
Yet mayst thou boldlye vaunt
and make a true report
For mée that am thy Mayster yet
in such a semblant sort,
That aye (my hart is hirs)
of thée I aske no more:
My Pen and I will shew the reast,
which yet I kéepe in store.
Be mindefull of thy charge,
and of thy Maysters case:
Forget not that (my hart is hirs)
though I be not in place.
When thou hast tolde thy tale
which is but short and swéete:
Then let my Loue coniect the reast
till she and I doe méete.
For as (my hart is hirs)
so shall it be for aye:
My hart, my hand, my lyfe, my limmes
are hirs till dying daye.
Yea when the spirite giues vp
and bodie breathes his last,
Say naythelesse (my hart is hirs)
when life and all is past.
Sit fast to hir finger,
But doe thou not wring her.