Slander

There is a viper, that doth hide its head
In the recesses of the human heart,
There is a serpent, that doth make its bed
On manhood's prime, and God's own counterpart.
It feeds upon the honours of the great,
It mars the reputation of the just;
It eats its being into worth's estate,
And levels all distinctions in the dust.
Goodness is smitten by its bitter gibes,
Greatness is wounded by the slime it breeds;
It lives the worst of all its evil tribes,
For poisonous actions and for damning deeds.
Nay, Slander, keener than a serpent's breath,
Poisons far deeper, and yet brings not death.