Why should I pause on points like these to dwell? By such detail my pages idly swell? The process slow and unrepaid the toil-- A worthless harvest in a barren soil. The answer filed--three years at least fulfil Their circling round since Wakefield[9] drew the bill. Then streams of lengthy dull exceptions flow Which Koe must sign to humour Jemmy Lowe.[10] Amendments next that leave behind no trace Of first complaint;--but make a novel case-- Continual reference to the Masters, who Must have the wit to cut a hair in two; So nicely drawn, so fine the point between What it should not, or what it should have been. Here Captain Cross[11] assumes despotic sway Enraged at all who dare his speech gainsay. Once mighty ruler of a tamer crew, Than ever Ballot from the plough-tail drew; Like Falstaff’s scarecrows--ragged, spare, and tall,-- Himself the greatest scarecrow of them all. Oh! fortune, thou art but a fickle flirt! For me why sprawl’d not Eldon in the dirt? His carriage oft has passed me thro’ the town, But then alas! fate would not break it down. Oh! fortune, all thy favors are but dross, Or why bestow them on a man like Cross? Thy modes are various, as thy whim is strange; Or why a soldier to a lawyer change-- If such great merit must promotion get, ’Twere easy sure to add an epaulet. There long he might have shined in native light, At least a bully, if afraid to fight. Oh! Master Cross, resume thy martial post, Or deign in pity to give up the ghost. Thy luckless errors never falling right, Involve the suitors in perpetual night. Thy brain’s dark chaos working like a mole, Directs each action, and pervades the whole; Oh! may it have just sense enough to see That all is truth the muse has said of thee! Here Cox[12], of foundling babes the foster sire, Humane of temper, but too prone to fire, In judgment sits to act by reason’s rule; Yet ever proves of prejudice the tool. A look, a word mistaken, gives offence, And thoughts distorted take the place of sense. Some angry crotchet gets into his brain, Hatched in caprice, and nurtured by disdain. Persuasion fails to shew how warp’d his mind; When anger rules, the soul itself is blind: Confirmed by habit all his faults increase, So let him mend, or else depart in peace.