In shining colours, splendidly array'd,
Assume the honours of an honest trade,
And hide, beneath a prostituted glare,
The poison'd purpose, and the' insidious snare.
Beguil'd, the crew now raise the' associate strain,
And the last drops from pleasure's goblet drain.
The gloomy master views with looks malign
Their short-liv'd mirth, and hugs the black design—
Feeds his dark rancour with the foul alloy—
How soon the impending fate will damn their joy.