Page:Poems Cook.djvu/171

Some have been honest—rarely; strangely so;
In that Elysium of craft—a Court.
With most presuming speech the patriot one
Has offered stern advice to sceptred fools,
Serving a people rather than a king:
And what the thanks he gain'd? A traitor's name
At least; perchance the secret poison-cup
Or public scaffold, teaching senators
A glorious lesson in the book of—truth.

Go, face the hungry lion in his path,
Tread on the serpent in his torpid coil,
And less of risk will wait upon such deed
Than on the effort that shall seek to tear
The specious mask from gilded roguery.
Oh! 'tis a goodly thing this Honesty!
An estimable feature in a watchdog;
And there repaid and valued; but the man
Who takes up Candour for his standard word,
Scorning the Proteus shapes of mean dissemblance,
Acts just as wisely as the soldier does
Who draws his sword and flings away his shield.

Try ye how uncloak'd Honesty will thrive
With close and kindred friends or passing strangers.
Confess your errors with a ready grace;
Own you have sins, and tell how Passion throbs
With earnest pulse at some forbidden shrine;
Proclaim how dark Revenge excites your soul;
Betray the latent spring of selfish Pride
That moves the blazon'd hand of Charity:
Publish the flaws and blots that "flesh is heir to;"
Speak out—appear the chequer'd thing you are;
And see if Mercy will befriend your cause,
Or any voice commend your guileless tongue.
No, no. The herd around, who hide, perchance,
More guilt under more cunning, will pounce down,

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