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AS are those Apples, pleasant to the Eye,
But full of smoake within, which use to grow
Neere that strange Lake where God powr'd from the Skie
Huge show'rs of flames, worse flames to overthrow:
Such are their works that with a glaring Show
Of humble holinesse, in Vertues dye
Would colour mischiefe, while within they glow
With coales of Sin▪ though none the Smoake descry.
Bad is that Angell that earst fell from Heaven,
But not so bad as he, nor in worse case
Who hides a trait'rous mind with smiling face,
And with a Doves white feathers cloaths a Raven:
Each Sin some colour hath it to adorne,
Hypocrisie All-mighty God doth scorne.