S.Marshak, Back Translation Of Translated Shakespeare, Son.4 (Rus.) Poem by Lyudmila Purgina

Oh dear embezzler, you are wasting still
All your inheritance in a motion crazy,
The Nature doesn't make a gift
Of beauty - but lends free to freemen.

The charming miser, you are going to
Appropriate the things you need to transmit,
But you are storing treasure in seclusion,
Without counting it, not becoming rich.

You deal exclusively with your own thus,
Losing your profits from the wealth of being,
And in the hour of end - what would you ask,
What would you answer of your wastes to Destiny?

And with your body - all your future image
Will be then buried, not embodied really.