The ring was due. He could not favor one
And leave two sons in grief! How did he act?
He called a goldsmith in, gave him the gem,
And bade him make exactly of that form,
Two other rings, and spare nor cost nor pains
To make all three alike. And this was done
So well, the owner of the first, true ring,
Could find no shade of difference in the three.
And now he called his sons—one at a time—
He gave to each a blessing and a ring—