Though Truth be your Attorney's guide,
If Falsehood takes the other side;
The first preserving the straight line,
The latter moving serpentine-
A Cause may be exceeding good,
Yet what, alas!-in a wild wood,
Where thorns and brambles, and no sun,-
Has Honesty to do, but run
From the fast-following, dext'rous Thief,
Till to be caught is a relief?
Or, if the Law should hang the Elves,
Or they at length should noose themselves,
The gallows and the rope, when near,
Are so preposterously dear;
So much the Rogues have made their prey;
Clients still paying, still to pay;
That when the true Man views the Case,
They almost wish the false Man's place,
And seem at last in balance whether
It were not best to swing together.
Oh! had I but the Woolsack's power
For half a day-nay, half an hour,
Ye Gods, such rare Decrees I'd make,
That Rogues, and Lawyers too, should quake!
Instead of making endless strife,
And Chancery suits a suit for life,
As now a dire estate in fee,
Or a tremendous legacy;
Or an hereditary jail,
Left by our ancestors, in tail,
To our Assigns and Heirs for ever:—
My Laws should be ntore short and clever;
The "Law's delay" I would reverse,
And institute a Code so terse,
To catch, convict, and prove, the Thief;
Or let him go on Trial brief';
Whether a trinket he espy'd,
And, furtive, twitch'd it from my side;
Or, yet more daring, bade me stand,
Or plunder'd me of house and land;
Or whether, viler still, he stole
And sold the secret of my soul;
Made of my faith a felon's prize,
With Friendship's vizor o'er his eyes,
That made him look so just and true,
The bosom open'd at his view,
And gave him every Treasure there,-
His Throne of Honour, Trust, and Care.
All this, methinks, I would comprise
Within a reasonable size,
So different from the present track,
Each of my Clients to his back,
Instead of one suit, might have twenty,
And yet for Lawyers trimmings plenty :-
Suits for the backs and pockets too-
That, QUICK AS LAW-a System new!
Should be the Proverb.-What a change!
And he who could this Code arrange
Would surely merit—say, ye train
Who Hope and Fear have 'plied in vain—
Hope, that, like Zanga's in the play,
Has❝told you Lies from day to day,"
And Fear, more honest, which your mind
Prepar'd for what of course you'd find-
Ye who have plough'd the rocky steep
Of Law, and sow'd what others reap;
Ye who could Metaphors exhaust,
To tell what Law and Justice cost,
Say what to Him your hands would give?
I hear you chorus-" He should live
In our hearts' core-should flourish there;
Our blest Preserver from Despair!"
And as for You, ye Men of Law,
What from your Bounty should I draw,
For making out each knotty Case
Plain as the nose upon the face;
Make your long Labours brief and terse;
Lighten your Cares, but not your Purse:
The Verbal Army put to rout,
Whereases-a far-fam'd Redoubt!-
Your Forasmuches and Likewises,
Your standing army of Devises;
Phalanx of Alsos and To-Wits,
And So-forths, which your force completes:
Except your Army of Reserve,
A troop of Aides-de-Camp which serve;
And your Sharp-Shooters, who succeed
In desperate Case of Act and Deed.
And then your Miners and Enfolders, Who take the Foe by head and shoulders;
Your Hangers-on, who, though they follow,
Will often beat a General hollow,
In their manœuvreing and planning,
Or boldly seizing, or trepanning:
Then in strong-holds their Prisoners lock,
-Stronger than fam'd Gibraltar's rock-
And keep them there for Actions civil,
Close as the Damn'd are by the Devil!
What would ye give?-Methinks, you cry;
"O rather ask-what we'd deny?
-Albeit, provided he makes good,
(For that must be well understood,)
We'd give him all our Inns of Court,
Thus to cut matters smooth and short;
We'd give the Parchments on our shelves:
We'd give you all things-but Ourselves."
But, lo a Tribe less known to Fame,
And her fair Courts, than those of Shame!
The Pettifoggers of the Law,
Who are, in Nature's Code, a Flaw;
At once the horror and the scorn
Of those whom Bar and Bench adorn;
Whom every Honest Man must hate,
Although too numerous and great
For Law itself, with all its force,
To stop them in their felon course:
A Scouting Party, stout and strong,
To whom the Spy's worst arts belong:
An Host! who though, in order due,
They march to Battle two by two;
Th' insidious Sons of Roe and Doe,
-As oft, alack! the Poets know!-
With a slight touch upon the shoulder,
Can conquer better, and are bolder,
Than all your Troops of Volunteers,
Horsemen, and Foot, and Grenadiers;
Nay, more than all New France conceals,
With Buonaparte at their heels.
What would these Wolves to him assign
Who could THEIR dæmon power confine,
And keep them all within the fence
Of Virtue, Brevity, and Sense?
Who lopp'd away Tautologies,
And all the sacred Law's disease?
The Understrappers, to a Man,
Would scout a simplifying Plan;
Deem it with Office making free,
And call the scheme-a Nullity,
Poetic folly, quiz, and trope,
And for th' Inventor vote a Rope.
Then since, alas! 'tis plain, my Frieud,
Nothing the course of Law can mend,
And Revolutions make it worse,
Or aggravate the legal Curse,―
All that remains is, as you see,
To pray for your delivery;
Pray that you bravely may endure,
And your Release, though slow, be sure.
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