Who, when no other ill oppresses,
Are slain by Judas-like caresses,—
To you yourselves are all unknown;
And if some moment is your own,
For self-reflection, ere it flies
'Tis spoilt by hateful flattery's lies.
This lesson shall conclude these pages;
May it be blessed to future ages!
To Kings I give it, to the wise commend:
How could my volume better end?
