Alcide’s labours seem reviv’d, but none Are found, like him, to combat vice alone. Where right should flourish, see the weeds of crime Brought to perfection by the viper’s slime; Guilt spreads unnotic’d over Virtue’s ground, And crawling reptiles spit their venom round. Time was, when I on common sense intent, These cocker critics fought with argument; But soon I found that weapon better told When slyly pointed with a piece of gold; Conviction follow’d, as I gave it in, And all confess’d my art deserv’d to win-- May heaven’s recorder blot away the sin! Speed onward, Pegasus, and take a peep, Where sixty clerks with their six elders sleep;[53] Of whom the muse no good account can give,-- The worst of idlers in a dronish hive. To do their duty on the Bible sworn;-- That oath should seem as taken but in scorn. Why should they labour in so bad a trade? Ten pence for ninety words is vilely paid; And six and eight-pence adds but little strength, When taxing bills according to their length. Luxurious Baines! how often have I knelt To beg thy presence, ’ere the news was spelt! When idle fits enchained thee to the fire, In vain persuasion, or the look of ire. No force could motion to thy limbs impart; A torpid creature, without head or heart! And yet in thee the same weak point abounds. Paid on account a cheque for fifty pounds Thou feelest then a temper far more civil, And for that sum would follow to the devil. No more the blood-drops stagnate in thy veins; No more can truth describe thee, lazy Baines! Taxation[54] hail! thine academic school Behold, where all are taught to judge by rule, Not reason. Fools are ever paid the same As those, whose talents grace the rolls of fame. Successful labour gets no better pay Than indolence, that loiters on the way;-- No matter what the toil, or care, or pain,-- Should usage fail, remonstrance pleads in vain. In odious custom judgment lies interr’d; To that is argument and sense referr’d. By general nostrums quacks endanger life, So clerks in court apply the pruning knife. The system lops each rotten bough, ’tis true; But then it severs many a sound one too. Turn to the tedious process of contempt;-- Why should my foe from payment be exempt, If, firm in every stage, except the last, He leaves to me all damage of the past?-- Nor this the only point for suitors grief; Ten thousand others claim a like relief. If judges must permit delay at all, The costs at least should on the guilty fall: For where is justice, reason, law, or sense, When parties in the wrong escape th’ expense. No shelter lies beneath a silly rule; It serves but to increase the ridicule;-- The blund’ring precept of some ancient sage, Whose light is darkness in the present age.