Yet Friendship's name oft decks the crafty lip,
With seeming virtue clothes the ruthless soul;
Grief-soothing notes, well feign'd to look like Truth,
Like an insidious serpent softly creep
To the poor, guileless, unsuspecting heart,
Wind round in wily folds, and sinking deep
Explore her sacred treasures, basely heave
Her hoard of woes to an unpitying world;
First sooths, ensnares, exposes, and betrays.
What art thou, fiend, who thus usurp'st the form
Of the soft Cherub? Tell me, by what name
The ostentatious call thee, thou who wreck'st
The gloomy peace of sorrow-loving souls?
Why thou art Vanity, ungenerous sprite,
Who tarnishest the action deem'd so great,
And of soul-saving essence. But for thee,
How pure, how bright wou'd  virtues shine;
And, but that  art incorp'rate with the flame,
Which else wou'd bless where'er its beams illume,
My grateful spirit had recorded here
splendid seemings. Long I've known their worth.