When they speak against vice in the great;
I’ll cry out that they aim’d at the State;
And the Ministry, King, and the Parliament hate.
Thus I’ll still act the part of a lyar;
Persecution’s blest spirit inspire;
And then “Calmly Address” ’em with faggot and fire.
NICK.
Ay, that’s the right way, I know well:
But how lyes with perfection can dwell,
Is a riddle, dear John, that would puzzle all hell.
JOHN.
Pish, you talk like a doating old elf:
Can’t you see now it brings in the pelf?
And all things are lawful that serve a man’s self.
As serpents we ought to be wise:
Is not self-preservation a prize?
For this did not Abram the righteous tell lyes?
NICK.
I perceive you are subtle, tho’ small:
You have reason, and scripture, and all;
So stilted, you never can finally fall.
JOHN.