In vain the robing room I seek;
The very waiters scarcely bow;
Their looks contemptuously speak,
“He’s lost his only client now.”
E’en the mild usher, who of yore,
Would hasten when his name I said,
To hand in motions, comes no more,
He knows my only client’s dead.
Ne’er shall I, rising up in court,
Open the pleadings of a suit: