While his duck'd comrades o'er the ocean fly,
And sleep not in the whole skins they untie.
So, when to raise the wind some lawyer tries,
Mysterious skins of parchment meet our eyes;
On speeds the smiling suit—'Pleas of our Lord
The King' shine sable on the wide record;
Nods the prunella'd bar, attorneys smile,
And siren jurors flatter to beguile;
Till stript—nonsuited—he is doom'd to toss
In legal shipwreck and redeemless loss!