I wish it to be distinctly understood that, in my character of a vicious attorney, I do not mean to represent the profession at large. There are in town and country many upright practitioners, of whose friendship I should feel proud. A lawyer, however, may be often dishonest without the fear of detection, and indeed almost without the consciousness of doing wrong. In his practice the boundaries between good and evil are very slight, and may be imperceptibly transgressed. There is little merit in one, whom the fear of punishment deters from the commission of crime; but not to practice knavery when it can be done with ease and infinity is at all events a negative virtue deserving of no slight consideration. The idea of writing this poem first occurred to me in the Park of Fontainebleau, where I composed the greater part of it. During its progress I have had no opportunity of referring to any publication on the subject, and have, therefore, been compelled to draw very largely on my memory. This must be my excuse for any errors into which I may have fallen. PARIS, 1st October, 1827. PREFACE TO THE NOTES. The evils of the Court of Chancery have latterly been so much discussed, that I have thought it unnecessary to enter into long explanations upon the different objects of censure contained in the poem. The notes, therefore, contain only such observations as appeared absolutely necessary to make some of the verses more intelligible than could be effected in poetry, without a very tedious and dull circumlocution. The books of Chancery, practice and the report of the commissioners appointed to investigate the subject, will supply all deficiencies of this sort. R. I. B. THE COURT OF CHANCERY: A Satirical Poem. Oh! Court of Equity, misnamed, where doubt Leads many in; whence few, or none, get out; Where law presides, in semblance, but to mock,-- Like priests, that pray round felons on the block;-- Where justice sits, with even-handed scale, To shew the heaviest purse,--which must prevail-- Where Truth confounded flies, or ne’er is seen, And Falsehood flourishes--an evergreen;-- Where foul Corruption keeps his secret cave, And robs the suitor he pretends to save.-- Oh! Court, before whose gate, with reddened eye Pale Reason stands, and bids each Plaintiff fly; Bids right shake hands with fraud, nor tempt the strife, Begun in sorrow--ending not with life-- The legal contest, which may never cease,-- A cure perhaps--but worse than the disease-- Oh! Court, where dull Procrastination reigns Lacking decision--not for want of brains-- Which crowds of spectres haunt their doom to know In suits commenced two centuries ago-- Where all is wrong, and nothing certain, save A blasted fortune, and an early grave.