| Now all the truth is out, |
| Be secret and take defeat |
| From any brazen throat, |
| For how can you compete, |
| Being honour bred, with one |
| Who, were it proved he lies, |
| Were neither shamed in his own |
| Nor in his neighbours’ eyes? |
| Bred to a harder thing |
| Than Triumph, turn away |
| And like a laughing string |
| Whereon mad fingers play |
| Amid a place of stone, |
| Be secret and exult, |
| Because of all things known |
| That is most difficult. |