My gentle Anne, whom heretofore,
When I was young, and thou no more
Than plaything for a nurse,
I danced and fondled on my knee,
A kitten both in size and glee,
I thank thee for my purse.
Gold pays the worth of all things here;
But not of love;—that gem’s too dear
For richest rogue’s to win it;
I, therefore, as a proof of love,
Esteem thy present far above
The best things kept within it.