Horace (Quintus Horatius Flaccus) - 1.3.3. lyrics

We turn virtues themselves upside down in our desire To foul a spotless jar: the decent man who lives here Among us, who's an utterly humble soul, we call him Slow-witted, thick-headed. Another who flees all deceit And who never offers a single loophole to malice, Though we live among the kind of people, where Envy Is keen and accusations flourish: instead of noting his Common sense and caution, we call him false and sly. Of one who's unsophisticated, as I've often shown Myself to be with you, Maecenas, interrupting you Perhaps, while reading or thinking, with tiresome chatter: We say: ‘He quite lacks the social graces.' Ah, how Casually we enact these laws against ourselves! No man alive is free of faults: the best of us is him Who's burdened with the least. If he desires my love, My gentle friend must, in all fairness, weigh my virtues With my faults, and incline to the more numerous, Assuming that is my virtues are the more numerous. And by that rule I'll weigh him in the same scale. If you really expect a friend not to be offended By your boils, pardon him his warts: it's only fair That he forgives who asks forgiveness for his faults.