Honest men are the soft easy cushions on which knaves repose and fatten.
Shining through tears, like April suns in showers, that labor to overcome the cloud that loads em.
False as the adulterate promises of favorites in power when poor men court them.
Base natures ever judge a thing above them, and hate a power they are too much obliged to.
Justice is lame as well as blind, amongst us.
Honesty needs no disguise nor ornament; be plain.