Than here--to come here, to be washed in the falls. A judge of the court (in the law a mere goose) Here wasted his time with a lawyer let loose. Their books were thrown by--so I begged of the fates That the falls of Passaick might fall on their pates. This lawyer was Ludwick, who scarce had a suit, And for once in his life was disposed to be mute, But was mostly engaged in some crazy dispute: A cause against Smyth[B] he could never defend, As well might the Old One with Michael contend: The road was before him, the country was spacious, And he knew an old fellow called _fieri facias_:-- I saw him demurr, when they asked him to pay-- With a _noli-pros-equi_ he scampered away.-- Though his head was profusely be-plaistered with meal, One sorrowful secret it could not conceal, That he drew his first breath when a two penny star Presided, and governed this son of the bar. Here was Pedro, the parson, who looked full as grave As it he had lodged in Trophonius's cave. He talked of his wine, and he talked of his beer, And he talked of his texts, that were not very clear; And many suspected he talked very queer.-- He talked with Scalpella, the inn-holder's wife, Then dwelt on her beauties, and called her his life!-- He ogled Scalpella!--and spake of her charms; And oh! how he wished to repose in her arms: He called her his deary, and talked of their loves; And left her at last--a pair of old gloves! I was sorry to see him deranged and perplext That no one would ask him to handle a text:-- All gaped when he spoke, and incessantly gazed, And thought him no witch, but a parson be-crazed. Fine work did he make of Millennium, I trow, Which he told us would come (tho' it comes very slow) When earth with the pious and just will abound And Eden itself at Egg-Harbour be found: No musketoes to bite us, no rats to molest, And lawyers themselves rocked into something like rest. But most of us judged it was rather a whim, Or, at least, that the prospect was distant and dim. So I saw him pack up his polemical gown, To retreat while he could from the noise of the town.[C] He said there was something in Falls he admired, But of constantly hearing the roar--he was tired! With their damp exhalations his fancy was dimmed, He would come the next spring with his surplice new trimmed, Besides there were fogs in the morning (he said) That rose on the river and muddled his head!-- Thus he quitted Passaick!--deserted her shore, And the taverns that knew him shall know him no more! One farmer Milhollan--I saw him come here, Almost at the busiest time in the year; His intent might be good, but I never could learn Who coaxed him away from his crib and his barn: Each morning he tippled three glasses of gin With as many, at least, as three devils therein. He quarrelled with Jack, and he wrangled with Tom, 'Till scarcely a negro but wished him at home;