And that man, by no false arts deluded,
May enter unchallenged before us.
It is hard to be humble when trodden;
We cannot be meek when oppressed;
Nor pure while our souls are made sodden
With loathing that can't be confessed;
Or true, while our bread and our shelter
By a lying pretence is obtained—
Deceived, in deception we welter;
By a touch are we evermore stained.