They’re sordid, its motives;—like ‘sprat to catch whale.’”
A lampoon should thy panegyrist indite
Against thee in public, thy rest’s disturbed quite.
Thou knowest it was spoken in sheer angry spleen,
When he in some wish unsuccessful had been.
The barb of it rankles, still, in thy heart’s core,
The price paid for flattery, ’tis, makes thee feel sore.320
Long, long shalt thou feel the deep wound it inflicts.
It stimulates pride; all the soul it infects.
Man shows not how sweet flattery is to his soul.