Flattery is nothing but false friendship, fawning hypocrisy, dishonest
civility, base merchandise of words, a plausible discord of the heart
and lips. The flatterer is blear-eyed to ill, and cannot see vices; and
his tongue walks ever in one track of unjust praises, and can no more
tell how to discommend than to speak true. His speeches are full of
wondering interjections, and all his titles are superlative, and both of
them seldom ever but in presence. His base mind is well matched with a
mercenary tongue, which is a willing slave to another man's ear; neither
regardeth he how true, but how pleasing. His art is nothing but
delightful cozenage, whose rules are smoothing and guarded with perjury;
whose scope is to make men fools in teaching them to overvalue
themselves, and to tickle his friends to death. This man is a porter of
all good tales, and mends them in the carriage; one of Fame's best
friends and his own, that helps to furnish her with those rumours that
may advantage himself. Conscience hath no greater adversary, for when
she is about to play her just part of accusation, he stops her mouth
with good terms, and well-near strangleth her with shifts. Like that
subtle fish, he turns himself into the colour of every stone for a
booty. In himself he is nothing but what pleaseth his great one, whose
virtues he cannot more extol than imitate his imperfections, that he may
think his worst graceful. Let him say it is hot, he wipes his forehead
and unbraceth himself; if cold, he shivers and calls for a warmer
garment. When he walks with his friend he swears to him that no man else
is looked at, no man talked of, and that whomsoever he vouchsafes to
look on and nod to is graced enough; that he knows not his own worth,
lest he should be too happy; and when he tells what others say in his
praise, he interrupts himself modestly and dares not speak the rest; so
his concealment is more insinuating than his speech. He hangs upon the
lips which he admireth, as if they could let fall nothing but oracles,
and finds occasion to cite some approved sentence under the name he
honoureth; and when aught is nobly spoken, both his hands are little
enough to bless him. Sometimes even in absence he extolleth his patron,
where he may presume of safe conveyance to his ears; and in presence so
whispereth his commendation to a common friend, that it may not be
unheard where he meant it. He hath salves for every sore, to hide them,
not to heal them; complexion for every face; sin hath not any more
artificial broker or more impudent bawd. There is no vice that hath not
from him his colour, his allurement; and his best service is either to
further guiltiness or smother it. If he grant evil things inexpedient or
crimes errors, he hath yielded much; either thy estate gives privilege
of liberty or thy youth; or if neither, what if it be ill? yet it is
pleasant. Honesty to him is nice singularity, repentance superstitious
melancholy, gravity dulness, and all virtue an innocent conceit of the
base-minded. In short, he is the moth of liberal men's coats, the earwig
of the mighty, the bane of courts, a friend and a slave to the trencher,
and good for nothing but to be a factor for the devil.