I Know the Face of Falsehood

I know the face of Falsehood and her tongue

Honeyed with unction, plausible with guile, / Are dear to men, whom count me not among, / That owe their daily credit to her smile; Such have been succoured out of great distress

By her contriving, if accounts be true:

Their deference now above the board, I guess, / Discharges what beneath the board is due. As for myself, I'd liefer lack her aid

Than eat her presence; let this building fall:

But let me never lift my latch, afraid

To hear her simpering accents in the hall, / Nor force an entrance past mephitic airs

Of stale patchouli hanging on my stairs.