Poem by Michael Drayton

Sonnet 10. To Nothing Fitter Can I thee Compare

To nothing fitter can I thee compare
Than to the son of some rich penny-father,
Who, having now brought on his end with care,
Leaves to his son all he had heap'd together;
This new rich novice, lavish of his chest,
To one man gives, doth on another spend,
Then here he riots, yet among the rest
Haps 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 plac'd,
Time hath thy beauty, which with age will leave thee;
    Only that little which to me was lent 
    I give thee back, when all the rest is spent.

1. Sonnet 23. Love, Banish'd Heav'n
2. Sonnet 36. Thou Purblind Boy
3. Sonnet 14. If He From Heav'n
4. Sonnet 45. Muses, which Sadly Sit about My Chair
5. Sonnet 16. Mongst all the Creatures in this Spacious Round

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