Next to the bar, a less unworthy den, Where shine at least some honourable men:-- But still e’en there the thirst of gain hath fix’d Its blighting venom with dishonour mixed; Hath hurl’d proud Reason from her proper throne, And turn’d compassion to a block of stone. In days of yore, when learning first began To raise nice questions on the rights of man; When law was as a science first revealed, And civil wrongs by golden plaisters healed: Superior talents throng’d the judgment place, But not for lucre; bribes involved disgrace. For rich and poor alike the voice was raised; No sordid motives e’er that voice debas’d: Ambition led; each sought the road to fame; His country’s praises, and an honest name. How changed the manners of the present time, Less fond of virtue, and more prone to crime; Deserted poverty is heard no more, Or heard in vain oppression to deplore. Wealth spreads its influence in perpetual show’rs, And rears of eloquence the choicest flow’rs. Departed Romilly[32]! the muse with tears Turns to record what all thy merit sears. The love of gold engaged thy mind too much, And spoiled perfection with it’s reptile touch. E’en while admiring senates hail’d thy speech-- The patriot, whom corruption could not reach; Bold, independent, to thy country firm-- Thy mind was canker’d by the secret worm-- The worm of Avarice, that warps the sight, And paints each shade of wrong with all the tints of Right. But he is gone, and mem’ry hopes in vain To find his likeness at the bar again. His vice remains; but none are left behind To serve as models of his noble mind. With him in worth forensic knowledge fell, And Genius drooping bade the court farewell. Whom shall discernment now, alas! select T’ illumine Truth, and Falsehood’s form detect-- T’ argue still, in luckless Reason’s spite, That white is black, and black a shade of white? Where all are nearly equal, small the choice, Save in the windpipe, or the louder voice. Shake all the host together in a hat, And take them singly forth, whose name is that? Hart[33] sallies forth--but why was he put there? His judgeship merges all the barrister. Long may he live that dignity to keep, And slumber now, as once he lull’d to sleep. His name half serves my numbers to compose, And turn dull poetry to duller prose. Still might his long experience fit the place, That Copley’s sense without can never grace.