The Court of Chancery: a satirical poem.Blewitt, Reginald James
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The Court of Chancery: a satirical poem.
Blewitt, Reginald James
Great Britain. Court of Chancery -- Humor; Great Britain. Court of Chancery -- Poetry
Then flies another age; and Grabble dead
Some equal scoundrel must be found instead.[30]
Demand the papers from his heir at law
Who strait a lumping bill of costs will draw.
This must be paid before a sheet shall go--
To bite the biter take his claim to Lowe.
Hail mighty Tonsor of a lawyers bill!
The whole profession trembles at thy skill.
Thine awful science, like a magic wand
Can turn each golden item into sand;
Reduce a crown to half, as quick as thought,
And turn each six and eight-pence into nought--
That placid eye and countenance demure
To passing glance would tell not much of lure,
Nor from thy speech so more than calmly smooth,
Would inexperience guess the serpent’s tooth.
No beast, no reptile, bites his fellow kind;--
But those who trust in Lowe, deceit will find.
He smiles sometimes; but oh! beware that smile,
The certain symptom of some latent guile;
Or when perhaps he feels unusual glee,
To make large havoc with a queried fee.
But why thus censure what may tend to good?
The worst of poisons can be used for food.
And thus in Lowe, who brethren treats with scorn,
The suitor finds a friend when most forlorn.
Not that he acts his principles to shew--
But as in hatred to some mortal foe;
No matter whom--to him ’tis all the same,
How near in friendship, or how just in fame;
To all he deals his art insidious round,
And happy those who can escape a wound;
On, demon, on; pursue thy dark career,
Beloved by none, detested by thy peer.
On earth thy province leads to Satan’s verge,
Then, as his bailiff, be thy brother’s scourge!
And when from hell he goes for souls to pimp,
Be thine the task to pinch each naughty imp,--
To tear from Famine half its stygian meal,
And grind Despair for pastime on a wheel!
New brooms sweep clean, and with good luck to guide,
The cause at last may to a hearing glide;--
But not ’till many more long years have flown,--
Deaths and revivors following one by one.
Then draw the briefs, and on your clerks impose
That not for life they copy words to close;
It looks unseemly, thus the truth restrain:--
How much more cash you by such precept gain.
What means a brief? to shorten well the case,
And copious matter cram in narrow space.
Then what is this that modern counsel wield,
(A giant manual) when they take the field?
The pleading’s length would make a saint bewail,
But why, like comet, must it have a tail?
With facts the speaker should his foe engage;
Then why with observations[31] swell the page?
Ask not; the meaning more than light is clear,
That thieves are honest men, the law too dear.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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