They form a pair. Each feigns, the one in order to reveal, the other to conceal. Irony desires a clever third party, to admire it; hypocrisy would have all its hearers equally dull. Irony seeks advantage, if only self-satisfaction, from penetration of a cover; hypocrisy profits from whatever can be accomplished under it, if only self-deception. Rejecting imposture, irony moves toward the goal of exposure; embracing it, hypocrisy maintains a constant presentation. Irony attacks hypocrisy with sharp weapons of wit, hypocrisy repels it from a smooth armored surface. Blaming through praise, irony leads on but intends finally to be seen through, hoping to exasperate and thereby undo; condemning fraudulence, hypocrisy claims the innocence of sincerity, hoping thereby to frustrate. The ironist says what he or she does not mean; the hypocrite shows what he or she is not. One employs irony, one is a hypocrite.
(This is a narrow account. The many forms of irony include, for example, the ironic manner which a narrator may maintain throughout a long work, such as Don Quixote. Hypocrisy may be more or less steadily conscious, and pass into mere unawareness of one’s condition, a state which Socrates tries to repair.)