XLIV

3 0 00

XLIV

O proud philanthropist, your hope is vain

To get by giving what you lost by gain.

With every gift you do but swell the cloud

Of witnesses against you, swift and loud⁠—

Accomplices who turn and swear you split

Your life: half robber and half hypocrite.

You’re least unsafe when most intact you hold

Your curst allotment of dishonest gold.