She that asks
Her dear five hundred friends, contemns them all,
And hates their coming.
The Task, Bk.  II.  W. COWPER.

He seemed
For dignity composed and high exploit: 
But all was false and hollow.
Paradise Lost, Bk.  II.  MILTON.

                          He was a man
  Who stole the livery of the court of Heaven
  To serve the Devil in.
Course of Time, Bk.  VIII R. POLLOK.

The Devil can cite Scripture for his purpose. 
An evil soul, producing holy witness,
Is like a villain with a smiling cheek,
A goodly apple rotten at the heart. 
O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath!
Merchant of Venice, Act i.  Sc. 3.  SHAKESPEARE.

  But then I sigh, and with a piece of Scripture
  Tell them that God bids us do good for evil: 
  And thus I clothe my naked villany
  With odd old ends stol’n forth of holy writ,
  And seem a saint when most I play the devil.
King Richard III., Act i.  Sc. 3.  SHAKESPEARE.

  O villain, villain, smiling damned villain! 
  My tables,—­meet it is I set it down,
  That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain.
Hamlet, Act i.  Sc. 5.  SHAKESPEARE.

  That practised falsehood under saintly shew,
  Deep malice to conceal, couched with revenge.
Paradise Lost, Bk.  IV.  MILTON.

Built God a church, and laughed his word to scorn. Retirement.  W. COWPER.

  And the devil did grin, for his darling sin
  Is pride that apes humility.
The Devil’s Thoughts.  S.T.  COLERIDGE.

  O, what may man within him hide,
  Though angel on the outward side!
Measure for Measure, Act iii.  Sc. 2.  SHAKESPEARE.

  ’Tis too much proved—­that with devotion’s visage
  And pious action we do sugar o’er
  The devil himself.
Hamlet, Act iii, Sc. 1.  SHAKESPEARE.

  I waive the quantum o’ the sin,
    The hazard of concealing: 
  But, och! it hardens a’ within,
    And petrifies the feeling.
Epistle to a Young Friend.  R. BURNS.

IDLENESS.

  ’Tis the voice of the sluggard; I heard him complain,
  “You have waked me too soon, I must slumber again.”
The Sluggard.  DR. I. WATTS.

  Sloth views the towers of fame with envious eyes,
  Desirous still, still impotent to rise.
The Judgment of Hercules.  W. SHENSTONE.

  Their only labor was to kill the time
  (And labor dire it is, and weary woe);
  They sit, they loll, turn o’er some idle rhyme;
  Then, rising sudden, to the glass they go,
  Or saunter forth, with tottering step and slow: 
  This soon too rude an exercise they find;
  Straight on the couch their limbs again they throw,
  Where hours on hours they sighing lie reclined,
  And court the vapory god, soft breathing in the wind.
The Castle of Indolence, Canto I.  J. THOMSON.