My voice, my vice, my serpent’s tongue,
betrayer of my truthful heart,
corrupter of integrity,
how cunningly you work your art
to twist and tear my honesty
until instead your lies are sung.
Too comfortably sits your mask
upon the face of a deceit,
too easy you have made the sin 
of weaving out a small conceit,
too stealthily your scaly skin
disguises your most wicked task.
  Can any honest man resist
  as fitting a device as this?