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.
