But let him, if his bread and cheese
Depend on his profession,
Bethink him that the art of these
Was not their sole possession.
The stream that flows from Helicon
Is scarcely a Pactolus,
A richer prize is theirs who con
Dull treatises on dolus.
'Tis well that some bold spirits dare
To cut themselves asunder
From bonds of law like old Molière,
While lawyers gaze in wonder.
The world had been a poorer place
Had Goethe lived by pleading
Or Tasso won a hopeless case
With Ariosto leading.
Somewhere
Somewhere in a distant star,
Cities of Cocaigne there are,
Paradises of the Bar.
Somewhere 'neath another sun
Counsel cease to see the fun
Lurking in a judge's pun.