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IV.
Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend
Upon
thyself 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
thyself alone,
Thou of thyself 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 tomb'd with thee,
Which, used, lives
th' executor to be.
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