But overlooked his hinds; their pay was just,
And ready, for he scorned to go on trust:
Slow to resolve, but in performance quick;
So true, that he was awkward at a trick.
}
For little souls on little shifts rely, }
And cowards arts of mean expedients try; }
The noble mind will dare do any thing but lie. }
False friends, his deadliest foes, could find no way,
But shows of honest bluntness, to betray;