Thus Bell replies--“My Lord, behold my friend, “Another Shylock--comes our lives to end. “The pound of flesh he claims in barb’rous mood, “Tho’ death should follow with the loss of blood. “My friend admits the only flaw he knows “Thro’ all the title to the paltry close, “Is that on Lady Day a few short hours “Were wanting to complete this term of ours; “And that, because the title then was found “Defective, nought on earth could make it sound. “Who doubts the motive of such rotten plea? “My friend may fume, ’tis plain enough to me. “He asks for Justice.--What is Justice here? “On March the twenty-sixth, our right was clear. “That very day as evidence will shew, “Defendant from his purchase wish’d to go, “In this deceptious refuge took resort, “And drove us most unwilling into Court. “If law and justice in one point unite, “My friend is wrong, and I am surely right. “Who makes a contract must the terms fulfil;-- “We always have been ready; are so still. “The title clear; the field by Gripe possess’d, “No purchase money paid, nor interest,-- “Is this a case for cautious doubt to pause? “Let common sense at once decide the cause! “Substantial justice to my claim decree, “And make for once a Court of Equity.” Now hear the judge. “This cause I cannot end, “But must with sorrow to the master send.[47] “Let him into the business well inquire, “And state each fact, as parties may desire,-- “What changes, if at all, has undergone “The title; and when first a right was shewn. “These points the wisest master should engross; “So let the matter be referr’d to Cross. “All other question, and the costs be stay’d “For future judgment, when report is made.” Ye heathen bards, in whose Tartarean Hell “Hope withering droops, and mercy sighs farewell.” Dark scene of horror, punishment, and fear; Behold its agonies depictured here! Another Tantalus attempts to sip The welcome spring, that flows to mock his lip:-- Another Sysiphus rolls up the stone To some tall height, from which it thunders down: Here wretched dames, who never did a crime, In filling sieves are doom’d to spend their time;-- Here too Ixions writhe upon a wheel With pangs, that disappointment makes them feel; While Tityus lies, by justice thrown aback, And owns the tortures of a sharper rack; Despair, the vulture, on his liver feeds, And laps each gory life-drop, as it bleeds,-- Screams with delight at the prolong’d repast, And owns no more the anguish of a fast!