I might not swing indeed; but he in sport Would whip a rhymer on from court to court; Stop him in each, and make him pay for all The long proceedings in that dreaded Hall.-- Then let my numbers flow discreetly on, Warn'd by the fate of luckless Coddrington[50]; 50 Lest some _attorney_ (pardon me the name) Should wound a poor _solicitor_ for fame. One man of law in George the Second's reign Was all our frugal fathers would maintain; He too was kept for forms; a man of peace, To frame a contract, or to draw a lease: He had a clerk, with whom he used to write All the day long, with whom he drank at night; Spare was his visage, moderate his bill, And he so kind, men doubted of his skill. 60 Who thinks of this, with some amazement sees, For one so poor, three flourishing at ease-- Nay, one in splendour!--See that mansion tall, That lofty door, the far-resounding hall; Well-furnish'd rooms, plate shining on the board, Gay liveried lads, and cellar proudly stored: Then say how comes it that such fortunes crown These sons of strife, these terrors of the town? Lo! that small office! there th' incautious guest Goes blindfold in, and that maintains the rest; 70 There in his web th' observant spider lies, And peers about for fat intruding flies; Doubtful at first, he hears the distant hum, And feels them flutt'ring as they nearer come. They buzz and blink, and doubtfully they tread On the strong birdlime of the utmost thread; But, when they're once entangled by the gin, With what an eager clasp he draws them in; Nor shall they 'scape till after long delay, And all that sweetens life is drawn away. 80 "Nay, this," you cry, "is common-place, the tale Of petty tradesmen o'er their evening-ale. There are who, living by the legal pen, Are held in honour--'honourable men.'" Doubtless--there are, who hold manorial courts, Or whom the trust of powerful friends supports; Or who, by labouring through a length of time, Have pick'd their way, unsullied by a crime. These are the few--in this, in every place, Fix the litigious rupture-stirring race: 90 Who to contention as to trade are led, To whom dispute and strife are bliss and bread. There is a doubtful pauper, and we think 'Tis with us to give him meat and drink; There is a child, and 'tis not mighty clear Whether the mother lived with us a year; A road's indicted, and our seniors doubt If in our proper boundary or without: But what says our attorney? He our friend Tells us 'tis just and manly to contend. 100 "What! to a neighbouring parish yield your cause, While you have money, and the nation laws? What! lose without a trial, that which tried, May--nay it must--be given on our side? All men of spirit would contend; such men