XLV An Epistle to Master Arthur Squib

What I am not, and what I fain would be,

Whilst I inform myself, I would teach thee,

My gentle Arthur; that it might be said

One lesson we have both learned, and well read;

I neither am, nor art thou one of those

That hearkens to a jack's pulse, when it goes.

Nor ever trusted to that friendship yet

Was issue of the tavern, or the spit:

Much less a name would we bring up, or nurse,

That could but claim a kindred from the purse.

Those are poor ties, depend on those false ends,

'Tis virtue alone, or nothing that knits friends:

And as within your office, you do take

No piece of money, but you know, or make

Enquiry of the worth: so must we do,

First weigh a friend, then touch, and try him too:

For there are many slips, and counterfeits.

Deceit is fruitful. Men have masks and nets,

But these with wearing will themselves unfold:

They cannot last. No lie grew ever old.

Turn him, and see his threads: look, if he be

Friend to himself, that would be friend to thee.

For that is first required, a man be his own.

But he that's too much that, is friend of none.

Then rest, and a friend's value understand:

It is a richer purchase than of land.