Launch'd on a plank, the buoyant hero rides
Where ebon Afric stems the sable tides,
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 speed the smiling suit, "Pleas of our Lord
The King" shine jetty on the wide record:
Nods the prunella'd bar, attornies smile,
And siren jurors flatter to beguile;