Next Horne uprises with resentment dire,
And sputters nonsense in a speech of fire.
“My Lord,” he cries, “behold this massive bill;
“The office copy would a volume fill!
“’Tis only done my client to oppress,
“Investing falsehood with a grander dress,—
“The whole a tissue of malignant lies;
“Defendant’s answer every fact denies.
“My client has perhaps the land enjoyed,
“But then his money has been unemployed;
“For, when the abstract was from Preston got,
“It shew’d too glaringly the fatal blot.
“Possessive title, as your Lordship knows,
“Full sixty years enjoyment must disclose.
“Now it so happen’d that on Lady Day,
“When my poor client had the cash to pay;
“Hours four and twenty (so the fact appears)
“Must pass, to make a term of sixty years.
“The point, tho’ doubted once, is set at rest;—
“My friend may smile, but mine will be the jest.
“I claim your Lordship’s judgment on my side
“With all the foresight of triumphant pride.
“Nor care I who may blame! my client stands
“For Justice; and the law, not praise, demands:—
“If harsh the deed, his conscience may atone,
“But to the priest be that confession known.”
Thus Bell replies—“My Lord, behold my friend,
“Another Shylock—comes our lives to end.
“The pound of flesh he claims in barb’rous mood,
“Tho’ death should follow with the loss of blood.
“My friend admits the only flaw he knows
“Thro’ all the title to the paltry close,
“Is that on Lady Day a few short hours
“Were wanting to complete this term of ours;
“And that, because the title then was found
“Defective, nought on earth could make it sound.
“Who doubts the motive of such rotten plea?
“My friend may fume, ’tis plain enough to me.
“He asks for Justice.—What is Justice here?
“On March the twenty-sixth, our right was clear.
“That very day as evidence will shew,
“Defendant from his purchase wish’d to go,
“In this deceptious refuge took resort,
“And drove us most unwilling into Court.
“If law and justice in one point unite,
“My friend is wrong, and I am surely right.
“Who makes a contract must the terms fulfil;—
“We always have been ready; are so still.
“The title clear; the field by Gripe possess’d,
“No purchase money paid, nor interest,—
“Is this a case for cautious doubt to pause?
“Let common sense at once decide the cause!
“Substantial justice to my claim decree,
“And make for once a Court of Equity.”
Now hear the judge. “This cause I cannot end,
“But must with sorrow to the master send.[47]
“Let him into the business well inquire,
“And state each fact, as parties may desire,—
“What changes, if at all, has undergone
“The title; and when first a right was shewn.
“These points the wisest master should engross;
“So let the matter be referr’d to Cross.
“All other question, and the costs be stay’d
“For future judgment, when report is made.”
Ye heathen bards, in whose Tartarean Hell
“Hope withering droops, and mercy sighs farewell.”
Dark scene of horror, punishment, and fear;
Behold its agonies depictured here!
Another Tantalus attempts to sip
The welcome spring, that flows to mock his lip:—
Another Sysiphus rolls up the stone
To some tall height, from which it thunders down:
Here wretched dames, who never did a crime,
In filling sieves are doom’d to spend their time;—
Here too Ixions writhe upon a wheel
With pangs, that disappointment makes them feel;
While Tityus lies, by justice thrown aback,
And owns the tortures of a sharper rack;
Despair, the vulture, on his liver feeds,
And laps each gory life-drop, as it bleeds,—
Screams with delight at the prolong’d repast,
And owns no more the anguish of a fast!
In Chancery Lane a fabrick[48] rears its head,
Whose vermin inmates, by foul plunder fed,
In impious candour drown all mental qualms,
And cringe for bribes, as beggars ask for alms.
There registrar’s in form prepare decrees
With long recitals, adding to their fees;
While ill-paid clerks, unable else to live,
From office copies equal spoil derive.
Woe to the thrifty wretch, whoe’er he be,
That asks from South[49] no copy of decree!
In vain attention shall he claim; in vain
To ideot Burrows of delay complain.
Threats and entreaties meet the same neglect;
But take a copy, and secure respect.
Thus tam’d, no more the pug-nos’d monkey fear;
For all your wants command the pliant ear!
Your welcome face will haunt him in his dream,
And every smile a copy-order seem.
Nor less are ent’ring clerks by lucre sway’d,
Tho’ shame invests their purpose with a shade.
If orders press, they will not take a bribe:—
No, tempt not thus each conscientious scribe!
They spurn all gold you would on them confer;
But pray, be gen’rous to the stationer.[50]
A name invented rapine to conceal,—
As tailors cabbage, but disdain to steal.
Thro’ all the court it runs from right to left,
By custom sanctified, tho’ still a theft.
No outward form of words will vary crime;—
Who cribs an egg, may rob the house in time.
Once pass the bounds of uprightness, and see
How quick the transit into knavery!
Of all this dunghill crew there triumphs one,
Whom I must name Corruption’s favourite son!
Abbott[51], stand forth! thou pious-looking elf,
Cloak in that simple face thy love of pelf;
Of pelf extorted from the suitor’s purse.
Oh! may it prove to thee and thine a curse!
Let all reports thy greedy hand hath fil’d
Start from their shelves, and hearing thee revil’d,
Make known each instance of thy golden lust,
And own the muse is in its censure just.
Before my sight another viper’s nest[52]
Appears, as foul and loathsome as the rest;
Where bad accountants shew no other tact,
Than that which centres in the word “substract”—
That is, from others’ pocket to transfer
(The price of peace) what none would else confer.
For this objections, flimsy as the net
A spider weaves each passing fly to get,
They coin, and language turn from its intent
To speak a purpose that was never meant.
Some name mis-spelt—one letter less or more,
A petty blunder ne’er observed before,—
A mode of diction not precisely plain,
When fools attempt the grammar’s art to strain,—
Add to delay full many an iron bar,
And every effort of progression mar.
For, like the hydra, should you crush one head,
Behold ten others rising in its stead!
Alcide’s labours seem reviv’d, but none
Are found, like him, to combat vice alone.
Where right should flourish, see the weeds of crime
Brought to perfection by the viper’s slime;
Guilt spreads unnotic’d over Virtue’s ground,
And crawling reptiles spit their venom round.
Time was, when I on common sense intent,
These cocker critics fought with argument;
But soon I found that weapon better told
When slyly pointed with a piece of gold;
Conviction follow’d, as I gave it in,
And all confess’d my art deserv’d to win—
May heaven’s recorder blot away the sin!