Page 1950 - Shakespeare - Vol. 4

4 IT

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 tombed with thee,

Which, used, lives the executor to be.