Her fcales you fee her only hold,
To weigh her priests' the lawyers gold.
Now, fhould I own your cafe was grievous,
Poor fweaty Paulus, who'd believe us?
'Tis very true, and none denies,
At least, that fuch complaints are wife :
'Tis wife, no doubt, as clients fat you more,
To cry, like ftatefmen, Quanta patimur !
But, fince the truth must needs be ftretched,
Το
prove that lawyers are so wretched;
This paradox I'll undertake,
For Paulus' and for Lindfay's fake;
By topicks, which, though I abomine 'em,
May ferve as arguments ad hominem :
Yet I difdain to offer thofe
Made ufe of by detracting foes.
I own, the curfes of mankind
Sit light upon a lawyer's mind:
The clamours of ten thousand tongues
Break not his reft, nor hurt his lungs.
I own, his confcience always free
(Provided he has got his fee);
Secure of conftant peace within,
He knows no guilt, who knows no fin.
Yet well they merit to be pitied,
By clients always over-witted.
And though the gofpel feems to say
What heavy burthens lawyers lay
Upon the shoulders of their neighbour,
Nor lend a finger to the labour,
Always for faving their own bacon':
No doubt, the text is here mistaken :
The copy's falfe, and fense is rack'd:
To prove it, I appeal to fact;
And thus by demonstration shew
What burthens lawyers undergo.
With early clients at his door,
Though he was drunk the night before,
And crop-fick with unclubb'd-for wine,
The wretch muft be at court by nine;
Half funk beneath his briefs and bag,
As ridden by a midnight hag:
Then, from the bar, harangues the bench,
In English vile, and viler French,
And Latin, vileft of the three;
And all for poor ten moidores fee!
Of paper how is he profuse,
With periods long, in terms abftruse!
What pains he takes to be prolix,
A thousand lines to ftand for fix!
Of common fenfe without a word in 1
And is not this a grievous burden?
The lawyer is a common drudge,
To fight our cause before the judge:
And, what is yet a greater curse,
Condemn'd to bear his client's purse;
While he, at ease, fecure and light,
Walks boldly home at dead of night;
When term is ended, leaves the town,
Trots to his country-inanfion down ;
And, difencumber'd of his load,
No danger dreads upon the road;
Despiseth rapparees, and rides
Safe through the Newry mountains fides.
Lindfay, 'tis you have fet me on,
To state this question pro and con.
My fatire may offend, 'tis true;
However, it concerns not you.
I own, there may, in every clan,
Perhaps, be found one honest man ;
Yet link them close, in this they jump.
To be but rafcals in the lump.
Imagine Lindsay at the bar,
He's much the fame his brethren are;
Well taught by practice to imbibe
The fundamentals of his tribe:
And, in his client's juft defence,
Muft deviate oft' from common sense;
And make his ignorance difcerned,
To get the name of Council Learned
(As lucus comes à non lucendo),
And wifely do as other men do:
But fhift him to a better scene,
Among his crew of rogues in grain ;
Surrounded with companions fit,
To tafte his humour, fenfe, and wit;
You'd fwear he never took a fee,
Nor knew in law his A, B, C.
'Tis hard, where dulnefs over-rules, To keep good fenfe in crowds of fools.
And we admire the man, who faves
His honesty in crowds of knaves;
Nor yields up virtue, at difcretion, at al
To villains of his own profeffions
Lindsay, you know what pains you take
In both, yet hardly fave your stake;
And will you venture both anew,
To fit among that venal crew,
That pack of mimic legiflators,
Abandon'd, ftupid, flavish praters!
For, as the rabble daub and rifle
The fool who scrambles for a trifle ;
Who for his pains is cuff'd and kick'd,
Drawn through the dirt, his pockets pick'd;
You must expect the like disgrace,
Scrambling with rogues to get a place;
Must lose the honour you have gain'd,
Your numerous virtues foully ftain'd;
Disclaim for ever all pretence
To common honesty and sense;
And join in friendship with a strict tye,
To M-1, C—y, and Dick Tighe*.
* This gentleman, who was a privy counsellor, incurred the fevere difpleasure of the Dean, who has taken feveral opportunities of cenfuring him. N.
DR. JONATHAN SWIFT, D. S. P. D.
In ALLUSION to HORACE, Book II. Sat. 1.
"Sunt quibus in Satira, &c,"
INCE there are perfons who complain
There's too much fatire in my vein;
That I am often found exceeding
The rules of raillery and breeding;
With too much freedom treat my betters,
Not fparing even men of letters :
You, who are skill'd in lawyers' lore,
What's your advice? Shall I give o'er?
Nor ever fools or knaves expofe
Either in verfe or humourous profe;
And, to avoid all future ill,
In my fcrutoire lock up my quill?
Since you are pleas'd to condefcend
To afk the judgement of a friend,
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