Come, I would forewarn thee and forearm thee; for keen are the weapons of his warfare; And, while my soul hath scorned him, I have watched his skill from far. His thoughts are full of guile, deceitfully combining contrarieties, And when he doeth battle in a man, he is leagued with traitorous Self-love. Strange things have I noted, and opposite to common fancy; We leave the open surface, and would plumb the secret depths. For he will magnify a lover, even to disparaging his mistress; So much wisdom, goodness, grace,--and all to be enslaved? Till the Narcissus, self-enamoured, whelmed in floods of flattery, Is cheated from the constancy and fervency of love by friendship's subtle praise. Moreover, he will glorify a parent, even to the censure of his child,-- O degenerate scion, of a stock so excellent and noble! Scant will he be in well-earned praise of a son before his father; And rarely commendeth to a mother her daughter's budding beauty: Yet shall he extol the daughter to her father, and be warm about the son before his mother; Knowing that self-love entereth not, to resist applause with jealousies. Wisely is he sparing of hyperbole where vehemence of praise would humble, For many a father liketh ill to be counted second to his son: And shrewdly the flatterer hath reckoned on a self still lurking in the mother, When his tongue was slow to speak of graces in the daughter. But if he descend a generation, to the grandsire his talk is of the grandson, Because in such high praise he hideth the honours of the son; And the daughter of a daughter may well exceed, in beauty, love, and learning, For unconsciously old age perceived--she cannot be my rival. These are of the deep things of flattery: and many a shallow sycophant Hath marvelled ill that praise of children seldom won their parents. This therefore note, unto detection: flattery can sneer as well as smile; And a master in the craft wotteth well, that his oblique thrust is surest. Flattery sticketh like a burr, holding to the soil with anchors, A vital, natural, subtle seed, everywhere hardy and indigenous. Go to the storehouse of thy memory, and take what is readiest to thy hand,-- The noble deed, the clever phrase, for which thy pride was flattered: Oh, it hath been dwelt upon in solitude, and comforted thy heart in crowds, It hath made thee walk as in a dream, and lifted up the head above thy fellows; It hath compensated months of gloom, that minute of sweet sunshine, Drying up the pools of apathy, and kindling the fire of ambition: Yea, the flavour of that spice, mingled in the cup of life, Shall linger even to the dregs, and still be tasted with a welcome; The dame shall tell her grandchild of her coy and courted youth, And the grey-beard prateth of a stranger, who praised his task at school.