But to proceed. The draft by Grabble’s pen Revised, must travel back to town again; Again must be, neglected as before, On draftman’s desk for fifteen months or more; Again must wander o’er the self-same track From town to country, and from country back. At last ’tis settled: then must clerks begin To cut, prepare, and rule the parchment skin; Then will their zeal demand an overpay, And turn, for expedition, night to day, T’ ingross, examine, file;--another week At least ’twill take; subpœnas then bespeak. The seal is shut, and, if you wish them soon, It must be open’d by a special boon-- The sum two guineas[6]. Eldon! fie, for shame! Nay, truth’s a libel, spare his lordship’s fame. His wants are many, and his stipend clear Scarce mounts to forty thousand pounds a year. ’Tis said, that justice to each subject down Flows in a stream untainted from the crown. Then say, can kings for justice gold demand? If not, why claims that right a meaner hand? As well to Peter might a bribe be given For keeping (not the seals) but keys of heav’n! Defendant serv’d, five months must pass, or near, Before the law compels him to appear; For like some barren tree deprived of fruit, In long vacation is a country suit; Or, like a vessel by receding tide, Left helpless on the shore, where it must bide Till tracing back its course the stream once more shall glide. Term come, then try the process of contempt, If still defendant should delay attempt. Seal an attachment; bear the rogue to goal, And hope your efforts may at last prevail. But ah! what sadness clouds that altered mein? What, if at large the stubborn foe is seen?-- His freedom gained, he pays the whole expense-- Not so, the practice is a vile pretence. The greater loss from wrong to right rebounds; Ten shillings his, and thine as many pounds.[7] Appearance entered, but renews the sport; Demand an answer by the clerk in court. He calls, like Glendower for a magic band Of Ocean sprites, that come not at command. He calls once more in peremptory terms and clear; But none so deaf as those who will not hear.[8] At length an order comes,--if sharp the spur-- For six weeks time to answer, plead, demur. Thus to some famish’d dog, that asks a bone, Derision throws with scorn the flinty stone: He seeks but little, and that little sought With eagerness, when gain’d, amounts to nought. ’Tis all a mockery from first to last;-- Wait must the Plaintiff, and the mongrel fast. Six weeks are gone--once more the game’s alive; Once more for breath must the Defendant strive. Hark! thro’ the purlieus dark of Chancery Lane The dogs are roused,--the chase begins again,-- Again delay pursues its wonted chime,-- And claims at last another rule for time.