Envy

Black drips the ooze that you secrete on all That Honour's burin graves or Love holds dear: At sacrifice you laugh, at virtue sneer, And sour rebellion's must, the waking thrall Would ripen into Freedom, with the gall Of green suspicion. God of drones, you hear Mutter of plots in all Success: on seer And saint behold your own foul motives crawl. O Gluttony that would but dare not gorge! Theft of the heart that dreads the handcuff! Hate, Too cowardly to hurl the bolts you forge! And Lust that fears to pluck the flowers you smell! Too low your lintel to seduce the great! The meanest of the Seven doors of Hell!