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.
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