Classic Poem

CXCII

Do way, do way, ye little wily prat!
Your slyly slinking cannot you excuse
Nor words dissembled cannot hide that
That will peer out, if often ye it use.
If ye think other, yourself ye do abuse.
For heartly love unspied long to last,
If ye assay, your wits sore ye waste.

If it be possible that from a fire great
The black smoke shall not issue out
Or for a cripple to halt and counterfeit
And be not spied, then quickly go about
Us to beguile; for truly without doubt
We know the craft, the looks, and the price.
Wherefore, trust me, it is hard to blear our eyes.

If that we to you of this do speak,
For goodwill, to make ye leave your folly,
Then will ye not stint till ye be wreak
And ready to swear and still will deny
That that is true; yet will ye never apply
To your own faults, but always ye excuse.
Leave, fie, for shame! Ye make men to think and muse.

Ye think to cloak that cloaked cannot be
And think to hide that open is in sight.
Alas, methinketh it is a great pity
Yourself to bring in such a plight
That should us cause to think ye light.
Leave off therefore. In faith ye are to blame.
Ye hurt yourself and loseth your good name.