Beneath those rugged wigs, uncomely shade, Where books and bags lay strewed in many a heap, Each in a narrow space on elbow laid, The lazy Juniors of the Circuit sleep. A breeze between the Council and my Lord, The tittering laugh at something idly said; The voice of many attuning sweet accord, Can scarcely raise a single heavy head. For their approach no heated suitors burn, Nor briefs delivered task their evening care; No! children run indeed where’er they turn, Or scrambling climb at wig and gown to stare. Oft to their sophistry the sessions yield Their labours oft have set at large a thief; How jocund do they drive to such a field, How bow their heads, when they receive a brief. Let not their seniors mock this humble toil, Which some regret that they can share no more; Nor fain to treat with a disdainful smile, The short and simple cases of the poor. The boast of sergeantry the leaders’ power, And all that purple, all that silk e’er gave, Alike at sessions wait but for that hour When profits path is opened――to the grave! Nor yon, ye crowd, impute to these the fault, If none in aught but stuff his form displays, While o’er the long-drawn ranks incessant vault, Some whom mere chance, and some whom hugging raise. Can well-stored mind, and animated face Call to their lodgings one attorney’s Clerk? Can honor’s course advance a silent race, Or flattering prospects open in the dark? Perhaps neglected in this Court is laid Some, who with fluent art a speech could fire Many whose talent, were it only paid, Might wake to emulate each living liar. But none before their eyes that ample page, Rich with its strong marked fees did e’er unrol. Briefless they come――repressed their noble rage, And frozen all their energy of soul. Full many a mind of purest ray serene To distant climes th’ unfathomed ocean bears; Full many a man is born to live unseen―― And eat his fingers――up three pair of stairs. Some village lawyer,[22] who, with dauntless breast The Squire or Parson manfully withstood, Might, perhaps, have drawn one from the inglorious rest, And flushed his talent with a client’s blood. The applause of listening juries to command, The threats of angry judges to despise, To scatter humour through a smiling band And give their speeches to the public eyes Their fates forbid; nor yet alone restrain Their growing genius: but their dulness find, Forbid to some to show their want of brain, And shut their mouths in mercy to mankind. The struggling pangs of still-born speech to bear, To find no thought will come, and wonder when; To load a cause, which prudence asks and care, With nonsense borrowed from the Attorney’s pen.