And indolent Apathy, sleepily ashamed of his dull lack-lustre face,
Is glad of the livery of meekness, that charitable cloak and cowl;
And Hatred hideth his demon frown beneath a gentle mask;
And Slander, snake-like, creepeth in the dust, thinking to escape recrimination.
But the world hath gained somewhat from its years, and is quick to penetrate disguises,
Neither in all these is it deceived, but divideth the true from the false.
Yet there is a meanness of spirit, that is fair in the eyes of most men,
Yea, and seemeth fair unto itself, loving to be thought Humility.
Its choler is not roused by insolence, neither do injuries disturb it:
Honest indignation is strange unto its breast, and just reproof unto its lip.