Verily, infirm thyself,—be slow to chide a brother's imperfections;
For many times the decent veil must hang on faults of nature:
And the rude hands, that rend it, offend against the modesty of right,
While seeming zeal, and its effort to do good, is only feigned self-praise:
Often will the meannesses of life, hidden away in corners,
Prove wisdom; and the generous is glad to leave them unregarded in the shade.
The follies none are found to praise, let them die unblamed;
Thine honest strife will only tend to make some think them wise:
And small conventional deceits, let them live uncensured: