Written in half an hour, while attending a Summons.
Art thou solicitor for all thy tribe,
That thus I now behold thee?—one that comes
Down amid bail-above, an under-scribe,
To sue for crumbs?—
Away! ’tis vain to ogle round the square,—
I fear thou hast no head—
To think to get thy bread
Where lawyers are!
Say—hast thou pull’d some sparrow o’er the coals
And flitted here a summons to indite?
I only hope no curs’d judicial kite
Has struck thee off the rolls!
I scarce should deem thee of the law—and yet
Thine eye is keen and quick enough—and still
Thou bear’st thyself with perk and tiny fret:—
But then how desperately short thy bill!
How quickly might’st thou be of that bereft?
A sixth “tax’d off”—how little would be left!
Art thou on summons come, or order bent?
Tell me—for I am sick at heart to know!
Say,—in the sky is there “distress for rent,”
That thou hast flitted to the courts below?
If thou wouldst haul some sparrow o’er the coals,
And wouldst his spirit hamper and perplex—
Go to John Body—he’s available—
Sign—swear—and get a bill of Middlesex
Returnable (mind,—bailable!)
On Wednesday after th’ morrow of All Souls.
Or dost thou come a sufferer? I see—
I see thee “cast thy bail-ful eyes around;”
Oh, call James White, and he will set thee free,
He and John Baines will speedily be bound,—
In double the sum
That thou wilt come
And meet the plaintiff Bird on legal ground.
But stand, oh, stand aside,—for look,
Judge Best, on no fantastic toe,
Through dingy arch,—by dirty nook,—
Across the yard into his room doth go—
And wisely there doth read
Summons for time to plead.—
And frame
Order for same.
Thou twittering, legal, foolish, feather’d thing,
A tiny boy, with salt for latitat,
Is sneaking, bailiff-like, to touch thy wing;—
Canst thou not see the trick he would be at?
Away! away! and let him not prevail.
I do rejoice thou’rt off! and yet I groan
To read in that boy’s silly fate my own
I am at fault!
For from my attic though I brought my salt,
I’ve fail’d to put a little on thy tale!