Yet none of these were cheated at the heart, nor steadily believed those flatteries; They feared the core was rotten, while they hoped the skin was sound: But the fruits have so sweet fragrance, and are verily so pleasant to the eyes, It were an ungracious disenchantment to find them apples of Sodom. So they laboured to think all honest, winking hard with both their eyes; And hushed up every whisper that could prove that praise absurd: They willingly regard not the infirmities that make such worship vain, And palliate to their own fond hearts the faults they will not see. For the idol rejoiceth in his incense, and loveth not to shame his suppliants, Should he seek to find them false, his honours die with theirs: An offering is welcome for its own sake, set aside the giver, And praise is precious to a man, though uttered by the parrot or the mocking-bird. The world is full of fools; and sycophancy liveth on the foolish: So he groweth great and rich, that fawning supple parasite. Sometimes he boweth like a reed, cringing to the pompousness of pride, Sometimes he strutteth as a gallant, pampering the fickleness of vanity; I have known him listen with the humble, enacting silent marveller, To hear some purse-proud dunce expose his poverty of mind; I have heard him wrangle with the obstinate, vowing that he will not be convinced, When some weak youth hath wisely feared the chance of ill success: Now, he will barely be a winner,--to magnify thy triumphs afterward; Now, he will hardly be a loser,--but cannot cease to wonder at thy skill: He laudeth his own worth, that the leader may have glory in his follower; He meekly confesseth his unworthiness, that the leader may have glory in himself. Many wiles hath he, and many modes of catching, But every trap is selfishness, and every bait is praise.