To nothing fitter can I Thee compare,
Then to the Sonne of some rich Penny-father,
Who hauing now brought on his end with Care,
Leaues to his Sonne all he had heap’d together;
This new rich Nouice, lauish of his chest,
To one Man giues, doth on another spend,
Then heere he riots, yet among the rest,
Haps to lend some to one true honest Friend.
Thy Gifts thou in Obscuritie doest waste,
False Friends thy kindnesse, borne but to deceiue Thee;
Thy Loue, that is on the vnworthy plac’d,
Time hath thy Beautie, which with Age will leaue thee;
Onely that little which to Me was lent,
I giue Thee backe, when all the rest is spent.