| 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 |
102 |
| 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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