Latet anguis in herba
Of flattringe speeche, with sugred wordes beware,
Suspect the harte, whose face doth fawne, and smile,
With trusting theise, the worlde is clog'de with care,
And fewe there bee can scape theise vipers vile:
With pleasinge speeche they promise, and protest,
When hatefull hartes lie hidd within their brest.
The faithfull wight, dothe neede no collours brave,
But those that truste, in time his truthe shall trie,
Where fawning mates, can not theire credit save,
Without a cloake, to flatter, faine, and lye:
No foe so fell, nor yet soe harde to scape,
As is the foe, that fawnes with freindlie shape.