All wreathed with the conventional bland smile
That covers weary scorn or watchful guile,
Shift here in sequence rapid.
"Why is this well-dressed mob thus mustered here?"
I asked my guide. "On every face a sneer
"Curls—when it is not smirking.
Scorn of each other seems the one sole thing
In which they sympathise, the asp whose sting
Midst flowery talk is lurking."
"Friend, mutual mockery, masked as mutual praise,