O proud philanthropist, your hope is vain
To get by giving what you lost by gain.
With every gift you do but swell the cloud
Of witnesses against you, swift and loud—
Accomplices who turn and swear you split
Your life: half robber and half hypocrite.
You’re least unsafe when most intact you hold
Your curst allotment of dishonest gold.
– Bierce: Epigrams