Ballad—in the Gipsies

Praise is a mirror, that flatters the mind, That tells us of goodness, and virtues, and graces; As that on our toilet instructs us to find The dimples and smiles which appear on our faces; To which our attention we cannot refrain, Though we draw off confus'd, yet but see its attraction, In spite of ourselves we return back again, Regard, are abus'd, and yet feel satisfaction.

I know I'm deceiv'd, and I say to my heart, You believe that sincere which is nought but profusion; Call pleasure what soon will severe make you smart, And hug that for a substance you'll find but delusion. Your praises are flatt'ry, I know it as plain As if you had said, "I am false and deceive you: But truth, reason, every thing, argues in vain; For such is my weakness, I blush and believe you.