Little ring, cincture of the finger of a pretty girl who cares for nothing save for the love of the giver, may you go as a worthy gift. May she receive you with joy and immediately slip you over her knuckles. May you fit her as well as she fits me, and may your perfect circle smoothly rub her finger.
May you be worn happily by my mistress, little ring: I, poor thing, am envious of my own gift. Would that I could suddenly become my gift through the shapechanging arts of Circe on the island of Aeaeae or of old Proteus on Carpathus! Then, mistress, I should desire you to touch your nipples and to slide your left hand beneath your tunic. No matter how tight and clinging I seemed before, I would slip artfully from your finger and into that narrow passage!
In order to seal secret notes I would first touch the humid lips of my lovely girl; that way my carved gem would not stick to the wax as it would if it were dry.
If she tried to put me away in a jewelry box, I would refuse to come of and would shrink into a tighter circle on her fingers.
I would not embarrass you, my dear life, nor would your slender finger ever refuse to bear my slight weight. Wear me as you wash your limbs in warm water… but I think my member should rise with lust at your nude body. As a ring I would try to behave as a man.
But why would I wish for such a silly thing? Hasten off, little gift. Let her sense the faith that I send with you.