THE Egotist is such a man Who deems himself the great "I am," The world to sin and vice is prone While he, consummate, stands alone.
He sees in others every fault- Commenting he could ne'er be brought To err in any human way, For he's above the common clay.
But you should watch his little game- You'll find it's not so very tame. His constant pose of a grand good man Is just a lie, an artful sham.
He lives along in sly disguise, A martyred man whose connubial ties Are irksome to a high degree, And with slander, against his mate goes free.
He speaks about his virtues rare Boasts he is ne'er seen anywhere With maiden pure, nor virtuous wife, It might destroy his prestige in life.
Yet he enters the home of a trusting friend, Betrays all faith, to gain his end, Thinks nought of wrecking lives of both:- To destruction (of others) he's nothing loath.
Of charities then you'll later hear, Which he endows with thousands mere. With this he seeks to ease his mind For many acts of the basest kind.
The world looks on, the world looks wise, To the light of truth it shuts its eyes; But a day will come, Oh, the world's surprise, The wolf will be shorn of his sheep's disguise.
