My whiskers are white, my head is bald,
Since the dreary hour when I was call’d.
The Steward he whistled as out he told
The fees at my call from a packet of gold.
And never was heard of a step so wild
As took to the bar the briefless child.
I’ve liv’d since then, in term and out,
Some thirty years, or thereabout;
Without a brief, but power to range
From court to court by way of change.