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 learn'd, 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
Inquiry 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.