On Hypocrites

Hypocrites are like pictures of canvas, they show fairest at farthest. A hypocrite's profession is in folio, but his sincerity in decimo-sexto, nothing in the world to speak of. A hypocrite is like the Sicilian Etna, flaming at the mouth when it has snow at the foot: their mouths talk hotly, but their feet walk coldly. The nightingale has a sweet voice, but a lean carcass; a voice and nothing else but a voice: and so have all hypocrites ... Hypocrites labour to seem saints, not to be so; but the holy labour to be saints, more than to seem saints. The kite may fly aloft but her eye and mind is to the earth. She seems to be a gallant bird at her pitch, till she falls down upon a carrion. Oh how the pretentious zealot makes a show to honour Christ with his lofty profession, as if he were altogether a man of heaven: tarry but a little, throw the bait of glory in his way, and he will stoop to a carrion, and be taken with the pride of His own commendation. If you have an angel's tongue and a devil's heart, you are no better than a post in the crossway, that rots itself to direct others; or a torch that, having pleasured others with the light, goes out itself in smoke and stench.