And eke a learned counsellor, but, alas! I cannot lie!
I’ve gone upon the Circuit,—there came no briefs to me;
I ne’er addressed a jury, ne’er pocketed a fee.
Alas! mistaken parents, to bind me to the law!
I have no natural cunning to make or find a flaw.
He who’d sit upon a woolsack must be ne’er with conscience cursed,
And, for wool to fill the cushion, he must take to fleecing first.
Then behold in me, O Romans! what the oracle demands,
The thing in Rome that’s rarest, a lawyer with clean hands.
A truly honest lawyer, with a feeling, tender soul,