The chariest maid is prodigal enough,

If she unmask her beauty to the moon:

Virtue itself'scapes not calumnious strokes:

The canker galls the infants of the spring

Too oft before their buttons be disclosed,

And in the morn and liquid dew of youth

Contagious blastments are most imminent.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Hamlet. Act i. Sc. 3.

Sad fancies do we then affect,

In luxury of disrespect

To our own prodigal excess

Of too familiar happiness.

William Wordsworth (1770-1850): Ode to Lycoris.

All things that are,

Are with more spirit chased than enjoy'd.

How like a younker or a prodigal

The scarfed bark puts from her native bay,

Hugg'd and embraced by the strumpet wind!

How like the prodigal doth she return,

With over-weather'd ribs and ragged sails,

Lean, rent, and beggar'd by the strumpet wind!

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): The Merchant of Venice. Act ii. Sc. 6.

When the blood burns, how prodigal the soul

Lends the tongue vows.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Hamlet. Act i. Sc. 3.