BEFORE I yet assume the band, |
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Or dare to tread on lawyer- land, |
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(A rich champaign that's never bleak |
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Nor bare to those who boldly speak; |
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Where neither cold, nor rain, nor drought |
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Can ever turn the crops to nought:) — |
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Before I venture on a brief, — |
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Before I hang a single theif, — |
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Or plunge my goose- quill into ink, — |
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Or purse my mouth and seem to think, |
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While clients stare, and rustics wonder, |
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Like young pigs when they shrink from thunder, — |
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I'll call on thee, renowned wig! |
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(In self- importance justly big) |
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Beneath whose ample curls men sit, |
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Disfigured by thy weight of wit: — |
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(For thou still dost the lawyer fire, |
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As Phoebus' rays bards' brains inspire; |
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Making mere man thrice vast and learn'd, |
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Like water into vapour turned.) — |
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— Spirit of wisdom, cramped and curled! |
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Type of the thoughts that fill the world! |
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(Tortured to every quirk and shift |
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That lawyers into fortune lift:) |
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What garland, wrought of barren bays? — |
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What "order," rich with martial rays? — |
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What knightly cross, or riband red? |
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What key,— — what collar ever shed |
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Such honours on man's honoured head? |
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Vittoria's splendours! — what are they |
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To Eldon's powder waxing grey? |
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What black King Charles's black peruke? |
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What Villers' locks, 'though twice a duke'? |
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What Malborough's waggon- load of hair? |
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Or Lely's loves all frizz'd and fair? — |
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And thou — Greatwig! — white — powdered — flowing |
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O'er eyebrows knit and foreheads knowing, |
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Upon what skull, on law intent, |
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Did'st perch, — thou, King of wigs! — content, |
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When wisest BELL, (so keen and kind) |
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Left law but left no peer behind, — |
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Not one so sage, and yet so meek, |
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Of all the tribes that love to speak? |
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Before what jaded judge, (who sits, |
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And sighs, and nods, and yawns by fits,) |
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Dost thou now shake thy Gorgon terrors, |
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Doubling some damned defendant's errors? |
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Or, — after P — 's judicial fury, |
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Dost smooth some forty- shilling jury? |
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Casting thy perfumes in their noses |
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The more thy brother wig opposes? |
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Or dost thou on the bench inhabit, |
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Where L — looks smug and — says 'D — it?' |
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From little snarling — — 's crown |
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Fling'st thou thy odours half- way down |
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His pigmy shape? — From Pr — st — n's head, |
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Where deep black- lettered law was bred, |
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And nursed through many a patient night |
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Till Lincolns Inn was filled with light? |
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Dwell'st thou with elder S — nd — rs, (well |
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Mayst thou with him contented dwell, — |
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A lawyer sound as ever saw |
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When sense should sway the doubtful law)? |
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Hang'st thou on L — nd — st's lordly cheek? |
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Dost thou abide with W — lde, or P — ke, |
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Both serjeants firm and fit to battle |
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A cause through four old women's tattle? |
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Or hidest thou S — t's pompous air? |
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Or M — t's visage hard and square? |
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Or A — t's look 'tween scowl and smile? |
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Or — 's face all drenched in guile? |
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Or H — ld's bold brow? or B — s — l's grace, |
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Handsomest of the lawyer race?— |
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Speak! — if thou still canst teach the tongue |
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(That thing on golden hinges hung) |
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If, on some huge block's head and shoulders, |
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Thou hang'st, the laugh of all beholders, |
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Forc'd, when thou canst inspire no more, |
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To hear the trash thou scorn'dst before, |
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Quick! leave the block (the head) — whose hum |
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Comes out as from some empty drum, |
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Which one who should be beaten beats, — |
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Where noisy nonsense, nonsense meets, — |
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Where blunders bump 'midst lawyer's quirks, — |
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And not one ounce of wisdom lurks: |
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Quick, leave the lackwit's skull all free, |
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And send the rogue to — Coventry1 . |
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Or, — are thou still, by human head, |
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O peerless wig! untenanted? |
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Hanging somewhere 'tween sea and sky, |
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Like prophets' coffin lone and high? — |
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If so, and there's a curl of hair, |
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A bunch — a look — a lock to spare, |
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Yield it to me, — to me, who left |
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(Like widow of her son bereft) |
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And must I see the poet's pages |
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No more? — ne'er dream of bright bright-ages, |
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When inspiration, like a sun, |
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Came down and deathless deed were done? |
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Farewell, then — (in Sir Blackstone's vein, |
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I'll bid the muse farewell again) — |
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Farewell, then, to the dangerous muse, |
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Whom lawyers love yet aye abuse! |
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Farewell unto the poets crowned! |
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Farewell, where laurel leaves abound, — |
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Thessalian Pindus! — Tempe's plains! — |
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Parnassus, where Apollo reigns! |
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And farewell O Castalian river! |
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Upon whose fringed banks for ever |
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Lie clustering still the dark-eyed daughters, |
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Singing to all thy running waters |
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Strange music like the Sybil's spell, — |
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Farewell, — to all and each — Farewell! |
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