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A leach will come far distances for your blood,
For it needs it to replenish its foul cud.
'Tis not where snakes belong where rabbits play,
Nor in such company where a hare might stay,
For where sour nettles grow there can't be peace,
For war by such foul mixture would increase.
When the mocking bird doth dwell among the doves,
Then trust is lost and doubt that no one loves,
Replaces faith in friends to pollute the mind,
Whose deeper thoughts one can no longer find.
Ah! Well, 'tis always that good things must end,
Or join the deceitful to suffer or pretend,
For though we sit at the same table to relate,
We dine not on food served from the same white plate.
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