From farre this gyaunt I ryght well behelde;
And towarde hym as I rode my waye,
On his first head I sawe a banner gay,
Wherin was written Dissimulation,
Whose nature false is full of flatery,
That, onder a fayned commendacion,
Can cloke a mocke and fraude full subtilly;
So doth he love deceyve oft pryvely,
For the blinde love doth perceyve ryght nought
That under hony the poyson is wrought.