Book III, 13: On the Hypocrite

Hee's like a Bul-rush; seems so smooth, that not
The eye of Cato can discry a knot:
Pill but the Barke, and strip his smoother skin,
And thou shalt find him spungie, all within:
His browes are alwaies ponderous as Lead,
He ever droopes, and hangs his velvet head:
He washes often; but, if thou enquire
Into his depth, his rootes are fixt in myre.