Unthrifty
loveliness, why dost thou spend
Upon thy
self thy beauty's legacy?
Nature's
bequest gives nothing, but doth lend,
And being
frank she lends to those are free:
Then,
beauteous niggard, why dost thou abuse
The
bounteous largess given thee to give?
Profitless
usurer, why dost thou use
So great a
sum of sums, yet canst not live?
For having
traffic with thy self alone,
Thou of thy
self thy sweet self dost deceive:
Then how
when nature calls thee to be gone,
What
acceptable audit canst thou leave?
Thy unused
beauty must be tombed with thee,
Which,
used, lives th' executor to be.