Of little importance, nay, paltry and mean, The matter contested, a pig or a hen; But one thing he stuck to, he ever was seen To have for his pleading just one pound ten. With pleasure he saw that the quarrels increased, Each day he had business from wranglesome men, But all to the 'squire was a holiday feast While he got his dear Fee, the one pound ten. A parchment, Caveto, hung up in his hall Which cautioned the reader to read and attend, That for one pound ten he would quibble and brawl, Twist, lie, and do all things a cause to defend. Sometimes when the limits of lots were disputed He would put all to rights in the turn of a straw; From the tenth of an inch he his pocket recruited Till he made the two parties curse lawyer and law. Thus matters went on, and the lawyer grown rich Fed high, and swilled wine 'till the dropsy began To bloat up his guts to so monstrous a pitch, You would hardly have known him to be the same man. At last he departed, and when he had died, His worship arriving at Beelzebub's den; How much is the entrance (demanded the guide?--) Old Devil made answer, 'Tis One Pound Ten. [150] First published in the _Time-Piece_, December 13, 1797. Text from the 1809 edition. ON A CELEBRATED PERFORMER ON THE VIOLIN[151] Who, as it was said, went out, in the year 1797, to excite discontents and insurrections in the western country, particularly, in Ohio, Kentucky, and Tennessee Musician of the west! whose vast design Schemes our new states with England to combine; How vain the hope, with violin and bow, Such feeble arms, to work internal wo! How weak the attempt our union to divide With not a sword or pistol at your side! Not even a drum your engineer employs:-- He's right--a drum would blast the plot, by noise: All must be done in midnight silence, all Your plans must ripen or your projects fall. Unknown, unseen, till in the destined hour Descends the stroke of trans-atlantic power! By music's note to sway the western wild Indeed is new;--we heard it and we smiled. In cold December's iron-hearted reign Would you with blushing blossoms deck the plain; Would you with sound immure the Thirteen Stars, Or plant a garland on the front of Mars? To sound, not sense, once brutes, they say, advanced, When Orpheus whistled, fauns and satyrs danced-- You are no Orpheus--and it may be true He play'd some tunes that are unknown to you. Hopes, such as yours, on cat-gut who would place; On tenor, treble, counter, or the bass: