Strove to bend them from their purpose—not a word they’d hear him speak.
And the venerable Chief Justice, like Lord Mansfield at the fire,
Not caring to remonstrate, thought it prudent to retire.
So they rifled all the library of every book they saw,
Yet the gulf but yawned the wider for all that dose of law.
Then from that mixed assembly a seedy-looking gent
(He pays not much for mending who cannot pay his rent),
With an old coat all in tatters, and a hat without a brim,
Stalked proudly from the multitude, who, curious, gazed on him.
“My name is Marcus Curtius! a Roman knight am I,—