To nothing fitter can I thee compareThan to the son of some rich penny-father,Who, having now brought on his end with care,Leaves to his son all he had heaped together ;This new rich novice, lavish of his chest,To one man gives, doth on another spend,Then here he riots, yet among the restHaps to lend some to one true honest friend.Thy gifts thou in obscurity dost waste,False friends thy kindness, born but to deceive thee,Thy love that is on the unworthy placed,Time hath thy beauty, which with age will leave thee ;Only that little which to me was lentI give thee back, when all the rest is spent.

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