Before the goddess, at some distance,
Her chief and faithful minister,
’Squire Catch, the law’s great finisher,
Bore not th’ imaginary sword, 270
But his own tools, an ax and cord:
Then on a cloud the hood-wink’d fair,
Justice herself was push’d by air:
About her chariot, and behind,
Were serjeants, bums of every kind, 275
Tip-staffs, and all those officers,