The Project Gutenberg eBook of Briefless Ballads and Legal Lyrics, by James Williams

PAGE
Justinian at Windermere	9
A Vision of Legal Shadows	15
The Squire's Daughter	21
Her Letter in Chambers	25
Law and Poetry	27
Somewhere	30
Roman Law	34
Bologna	36
A Garden Party in the Temple	37
The Spinning-House of the Future	41
How we found our Verdict	44
A Greek Libel	47
Le Temps Passé	50
Lawn Tennis in the Temple Gardens	52
A Ballade of Lost Law	53
Comœdia Juris	56 [6]
Cases—
Mylward v. Weldon	59
Hampden v. Walsh	61
Willis v. The Bishop of Oxford	62
Dashwood v. Jermyn	66
Ex Parte Jones	70
Finlay v. Chirney	71
Pollard v. Photographic Company	71
The Minneapolis Case	73
Commonwealth v. Marzynski	77
Translations—
Greek Anthology	81
Martial	89
Cino da Pistoia	92
Pedro Lopez de Ayala	94
Piron	94

Justinian at Windermere

We took a hundredweight of books
To Windermere between us,
Our dons had blessed our studious looks,
Had they by chance but seen us.

Maine, Blackstone, Sandars, all were there,
And Hallam's Middle Ages ,
And Austin with his style so rare,
And Poste's enticing pages.

We started well: the little inn
Was deadly dull and quiet,
As dull as Mrs. Wood's East Lynne ,
Or as the verse of Wyatt. [10]

Without distraction thus we read
From nine until eleven,
Then rowed and sailed until we fed
On potted char at seven.

Two hours of work! We could devote
Next day to recreation,
Much illness springs, so doctors note,
From lack of relaxation.

Let him read law on summer days,
Who has a soul that grovels;
Better one tale of Thackeray's
Than all Justinian's novels.

At noon we went upon the lake,
We could not stand the slowness
Of our lone inn, so dined on steak
(They called it steak) at Bowness. [11]

We wrestled with the steak, when lo!
Rose Jack in such a hurry,
He saw a girl he used to know
In Suffolk or in Surrey.

What matter which? to think that she
Should lure him from his duty!
For Jack, I knew, would always be
A very slave to beauty.

And so it proved, alas! for Jack
Grew taciturn and thinner,
Was out all day alone, and back
Too often late for dinner.

What could I do? His walks and rows
All led to one conclusion;
I could not read; our work, heaven knows,
Was nothing but confusion. [12]

Like Jack I went about alone,
Saw Wordsworth's writing-table,
And made the higher by a stone
The "man" upon Great Gable.

At last there came a sudden pause
To all his wanderings solus ,
He learned what writers on the laws
Of Rome had meant by dolus .

The Suffolk (was it Surrey?) flirt
Without a pang threw over
Poor Jack and all his works like dirt,
And caught a richer lover.

We read one morning more to say
We had not been quite idle,
And then to end the arduous day
Enjoyed a swim in Rydal. [13]

Next day the hundredweight of books
Was packed once more in cases,
We left the lakes and hills and brooks
And southward turned our faces.

Three months, and then the Oxford Schools;
Our unbelieving college
Saw better than ourselves what fools
Pretend sometimes to knowledge.

Curst questions! Jack did only one,
He gave as his opinion
That of the Roman jurists none
Had lived before Justinian.

I answered two, but all I did
Was lacking in discretion,
I reckoned guardianship amid
The vitia of possession. [14]

My second shot was wider still,
I held that commodata
Could not attest a prætor's will
Because of culpa lata .

We waited fruitlessly that night,
There came no blue testamur , [A]
Nor was Jack's heavy heart made light
By that sweet word Amamur .

A Vision of Legal Shadows

A case at chambers left for my opinion
Had taxed my brain until the noon of night,
I read old law, and loathed the long dominion
Of fiction over right.

I had consulted Coke and Cruise and Chitty,
The works where ancient learning reigns supreme,
Until exhausted nature, moved with pity,
Sent me a bookman's dream.

Six figures, all gigantic as Gargantua,
Floated before my eyes, and all the six
Were shades like those that once the bard of Mantua
Saw by the shore of Styx. [16]

The first was one with countenance imperious,
His toga dim with centuries of dust;
"My name," quoth he, "is Aulus and Agerius, [B]
My voice is hoarse with rust.

"Yet once I played my part in law proceedings,
And writers wrote of one they never saw,
I gave their point to formulæ and pleadings,
I lived but in the law."

The second had a countenance perfidious;
What wonder? Prætors launched their formulæ
In vain against Numerius Negidius,
And not a whit cared he. [17]

With voice of high contempt he greeted Aulus;
"In interdicts thou wast mine enemy,
Once passed no day that students did not call us
As parties, me and thee.

"On paper I was plaintiff or defendant,
On paper thou wast evermore the same;
We lived apart, a life that was transcendant,
For it was but a name.

"I hate thee, Aulus, hate thee," low he muttered,
"It was by thee that I was always tricked,
My unsubstantial bread I ate unbuttered
In dread of interdict.

"And yet 'twas but the sentiment I hated:
Like thee I ne'er was drunk e'en vi or clam , [18] [C]
With wine that was no wine my thirst was sated.
Like thee I was a sham."

Two country hinds in 'broidered smocks next followed,
Each trundled him a cart-wheel by the spokes,
Oblivion now their names hath well-nigh swallowed,
For they were Stiles and Nokes.

They spake no word, for speech to them was grievous,
With bovine eyes they supplicated me;
"We wot not what ye will, but prithee leave us,
Unlettered folk are we."

"Go," said I, "simple ones, and break your fallows,
Crush autumn apples in the cider press,
Law, gaffer Stiles, thy humble name still hallows,
Contracted to J. S." [19]

Another pair of later time succeeded,
With buckles on their shoes and silken hose,
A garb that told it was to them who heeded
John Doe's and Richard Roe's.

"Ah me! I was a casual ejector, [D]
In the brave days of old," I heard one say;
"I knew Elizabeth, the Lord Protector
I spake with yesterday."

To whom in contradiction snarled the other,
"There was no living blood our veins to fill.
Both you and I were nought but shadows, brother,
And we are shadows still."

Room for a lady, room, as at Megiddo
The hosts made way for passage of the king, [20]
For from the darkness crept there forth a widow
In weeds and wedding ring.

"I am the widow, I, whereof the singers
Of Scotland sang, their cruel words so smote
My tender heart, that ofttimes itched my fingers
To take them by the throat.

"He scoffed at me, dour bachelor of Glasgow, [E]
If I existed not for him, the knave,
'Twas all his fault who let some bonnie lass go
Unwedded to her grave."

The Squire's Daughter

We crawled about the nursery
In tenderest years in tether,
At six we waded in the sea
And caught our colds together.

At ten we practised playing at
A kind of heathen cricket,
A croquet mallet was the bat,
The Squire's old hat the wicket.

At twelve, the cricket waxing slow,
With home-made bow and arrow
We took to shooting—once I know
I all but hit a sparrow. [22]

She took birds' nests from easy trees,
I climbed the oaks and ashes,
'Twas deadly work for hands and knees,
Deplorable for sashes.

At hide and seek one summer day
We played in merry laughter,
'Twas then she hid her heart away,
I never found it after.

So time slipped by until my call,
For out of the professions
I chose the Bar as best of all,
And joined the Loamshire Sessions.

The reason for it was that there
Her father, short and pursy,
Doled out scant justice in the chair
And even scanter mercy. [23]

As Holofernes lost his head
To Judith of Bethulia,
So I fell victim, but instead
Of Judith it was Julia.

My speech left juries in the dark,
Of Julia I was thinking,
And once I heard a coarse remark
About a fellow drinking.

I practised verse in leisure time
Both in and out of season,
It was indubitably rhyme,
Occasionally reason.

I lacked the cheek to tell my woes,
Had not concealment fed on
My damask cheek, but left my nose
With twice its share of red on? [24]

Too horrible was this suspense,
At last, in desperation
I went to Loamshire on pretence
Of death of a relation.

The Squire was beaming; "Julia's gone
To London for a visit,
But with a wedding coming on
That's not surprising, is it?

"Old friends like you will think, no doubt,
That she is young to marry,
But ever since she first came out,
She's been engaged to Harry."

Her Letter in Chambers

I sat by the fire and watched it blaze,
And dreamed that she wrote me a letter,
And for that dream to the end of my days
To Fancy I owe myself debtor.

Next day there came the postman's knock,
The morning was bright and sunny,
And showed me a sheaf of circulars, stock
Attempts to get hold of my money.

'Mid correspondence of this dull kind
A dainty notelet lay hidden,
It seemed as though it had half a mind
To consider itself forbidden.

The writing was like herself, complete,
With a touch of her queenly bearing,
So Venus wrote when she ordered in Crete
Her doves to take her an airing. [26]

Inside it was just as promising,
'Twas a pressing invitation
To dine at her house to-morrow, and bring
My book for her approbation.

For I have published, be it confessed,
A little volume of verses,
And in the volume whatever is best
The praise of herself rehearses.

I sit by the fire, and again I dream
A happier dream than ever,
I see her beautiful eyes soft gleam
As she murmurs, "How lovely—how clever!"

Her criticism may be commonplace,
But who can be angry after
Now sweet with pity he marks her face,
Now bright with impulsive laughter?

Law and Poetry

In days of old did law and rime
A common pathway follow,
For Themis in the mythic time
Was sister of Apollo.

The Hindu statutes tripped in feet
As daintily as Dryads,
And law in Wales to be complete
Was versified in triads.

The wise Alfonso of Castile
Composed his code in metre
Thereby to make its flavour feel
A little bit the sweeter.

But law and rime were found to be
A trifle inconsistent,
And now in statutes poetry
Is wholly non-existent. [28]

Still here and there some advocate
Before his fellows know it
Has had bestowed on him by fate
The laurel of the poet.

Let him who has been honoured so,
In truth a rara avis ,
Find precedents in Cicero
And our Chief Justice Davis;

And more than all in Cino; he,
So plaintive a narrator
Of fair Selvaggia's cruelty,
Won fame as a glossator.

Let him remember Thomas More
And Scott and Alciatus,
And Grotius with an ample store
Of most divine afflatus. [29]

But let him, if his bread and cheese
Depend on his profession,
Bethink him that the art of these
Was not their sole possession.

The stream that flows from Helicon
Is scarcely a Pactolus,
A richer prize is theirs who con
Dull treatises on dolus .

'Tis well that some bold spirits dare
To cut themselves asunder
From bonds of law like old Molière,
While lawyers gaze in wonder.

The world had been a poorer place
Had Goethe lived by pleading
Or Tasso won a hopeless case
With Ariosto leading.

Somewhere

Somewhere in a distant star,
Cities of Cocaigne there are,
Paradises of the Bar.

Somewhere 'neath another sun
Counsel cease to see the fun
Lurking in a judge's pun.

Somewhere courts are fair to see,
Beauty joins utility,
Ushers answer courteously.

Somewhere there are bailiwicks
Which for dock defences fix
Nothing under three-five-six. [31]

Somewhere rises struggle sore
For revisorships no more,
Every shire has half a score.

Somewhere educated thought
Scientifically taught
Cross-examines as it ought.

Somewhere judgments are obeyed,
Executions are not stayed,
Fees are almost always paid.

Somewhere County Councils press
Banquets on the circuit mess,
Fleshpots in the wilderness.

Somewhere at Assizes grow
Prosecutions row on row,
Every man has six or so. [32]

Somewhere, eager but for right,
Court and counsel cease to cite
Pointless cases recondite.

Somewhere headnotes give the ground
Whereupon the judges found
Judgments generally sound.

Somewhere juries use their sense,
Basing on the evidence
Verdicts of intelligence.

Somewhere rich embroideries
Woven cunningly of lies
Part in twain at truth's clear eyes.

Somewhere justice grows from wrong,
Till the right that suffered long
Sings at last its triumph song. [33]

Somewhere—even in a place
Peopled by a perfect race—
One side holds a losing case.

Somewhere since the world began
Heaven hath made an honest man,
Somewhere in Aldebaran.

Roman Law

I am a "coach" in Roman law by fate,
But Nature must have meant me for a poet,
And while I struggle with a rule or date,
Poetic thoughts intrude before I know it.

The changing sunshine on the summer sea
Drives forth the law of cessio bonorum ,
Peculium castrense speaks to me
Of Horace and his Dulce et decorum .

I see the matine bee among the flowers
Instead of testamentum militare ,
And wander far away from agent's powers
To picture me again some Maud or Mary.

In truth there is no sequence in the thought,
Why should the title De Societate
Suggest, not trading partners, as it ought,
But visions of my last night's valse with Katie? [35]

But worse than this, when I have done my task,
Stern law again asserts her domination,
'Tis cruel 'mid the new-mown hay to bask,
And find one's mind is running on novation;

Or in the dusk, when glow-worms light the moss,
To hear the distant voice of Philomela
Expound the three varieties of dos
And wax right eloquent about tutela .

I had a little respite yesterday,
Dining with one who well knew how to dine us,
But when I slept, the charm soon fled away,
I dreamed I was a prætor peregrinus .

Dismasted in the deep of law I lie,
A poor reward it is to stand confessed as
The Virgil of the interdict de vi ,
The Petrarch of the patria potestas .

Bologna

A Garden Party in the Temple

On hospitable thoughts intent
To me the Inner Temple sent
An invitation,
A garden party 'twas to be,
And I accepted readily
And with elation;
Good reason too, but oft the seeds
Of reason flower in senseless deeds.

I stood as savage as a bear,
For not a human being there
Knew I from Adam [38]
I heard around in various tones,
" So glad to see you, Mr. Jones;"
"Good morning, Madam."
It seemed so painfully absurd
To stand and never speak a word.

I brought my doom upon myself,
And there I was upon the shelf
In melancholy.
Why, say you, did I go at all?
I once met Chloris at a ball,
And in my folly
I went and suffered all this pain
In hopes to see her once again.

Of strawberries a pound at least
I ate, and made myself a beast
With tea and sherry; [39]
And raspberries I ate and trembled,
Until I felt that I resembled
Myself a berry,
But 'twas the berry that at school
We used to call a gooseberry fool.

The I. C. R. V. [F] band droned on,
While guests had come and guests had gone
Since my arrival;
My brow grew gloomier with despair,
And on it sat the guilty air
Of a survival
Of some remorse for ancient crimes
Wrought in the pre-historic times.

My seventh cup of tea was done,
My seventh glass of wine begun,
Then of her coming [40]
I was aware, nor shall forget
How she and that brown sherry set
My brains a-humming;
Well should I be rewarded soon
For all the weary afternoon.

Her eyes looked vaguely into mine
Without as much as half a sign
Of recognition.
My heart, my heart! the blow was sore,
But you have often been before
In this condition;
As said the bard of old, those eyes
Are not my only Paradise. [G]

The Spinning-House of the Future

Without my dinner here I lie,
And all because that proctor
With her stout bull-dogs passed, and I
Mocked her.

For Clara is at Girton too,
That dragon is her tutor,
I threatened once what I would do,
Shoot her.

Her life by Clara's tears was saved,
Wherefore she doth detest me,
And hither hungry and unshaved
Pressed me.

I would that I could have commenced
An action 'gainst that devil, [42]
Like that once brought by Kemp against
Neville. [H]

To her I owe the statute framed
That one against it sinning
Should dwell within the house that's named
Spinning.

Ah me! it runs in sections three:
Who speaks to Girton student
Is fined to teach him how to be
Prudent.

Who loves a Girton girl must do
Twelve months on bread and water,
From a digestive point of view
Slaughter. [43]

Who kisses her commits a crime
By hanging expiated,
And she in tears must spend her time
Gated.

Would that at Oxford I had been,
At Balliol or at Merton,
And then I never should have seen
Girton.

Go down I must, no more shall I
And Clara cross the same bridge;
Still, Granta, art thou her and my
Cambridge.

Some day on this her eyes may light,
This doggerel stiff and jointless,
And she may own it is not quite
Pointless.

How we found our Verdict

We sat in the jury-box, twelve were we all,
And the clock was just pointing to ten in the hall,
His Lordship he bowed to the jury, and we
Bowed back to his Lordship as gravely as he.

The case of De Weller v. Jones was the first,
And we all settled down and prepared for the worst
When old Smithers, Q.C., began slowly to preach
Of a promise of marriage and action for breach.

A barmaid the plaintiff was, wondrous the skill
Wherewith she was wont her tall tankards to fill,
The defendant, a publican, sought for his bride
Such a paragon, urged by professional pride. [45]

But the course of true love ran no smoother for her
Than the Pas de Calais or the bark of a fir,
The defendant discovered a widow with gold
In the bank and the plaintiff was left in the cold.

An hour Smithers spoke, and he said that the heart
Of the plaintiff at Jones's fell touch flew apart,
But a cheque for a thousand might help to repair
The destruction effected by love and despair.

Miss de Weller was called, and in ladylike tones
She described all the injury suffered from Jones,
How he called her at first "Angelina," and this
Soon cooled to "Miss Weller," and lastly to "Miss."

But the jury were shaken a little when Gore
Cross-examined about her engagements before,
For Jones was the sixth of the strings to her bow
And with five other verdicts she solaced her woe. [46]

Re-examined by Smithers, she won us again,
For the tears of a maid are a terror to men,
Then his Lordship awoke from his nap and explained
How love that is frequent is love that is feigned.

Miss de Weller looked daggers, and under the paint
Of her cheeks she grew pale and fell down in a faint,
She played her trump-card in the late afternoon,
For damages satisfy girls who can swoon.

Till she fainted most thought that a farthing would do,
Though I was in favour of pounds—one or two;
But after the faint—and she was so well dressed—
At a hundred the void in her heart was assessed.

A Greek Libel

Le Temps Passé

Lawn Tennis in the Temple Gardens

A Ballade of Lost Law

Comœdia Juris

Cases

MYLWARD v. WELDON

[The plaintiff was committed to the Fleet Prison on Feb. 8, 1596, by order of the Lord Keeper, for drawing a replication of sixscore sheets containing much impertinent matter which might well have been contained in sixteen. On Feb. 10 the Lord Keeper ordered that on the following Saturday the Warden of the Fleet should cut a hole through the replication, and put the plaintiff's head through the hole and let it hang about his shoulders with the written side outwards, and lead the plaintiff bareheaded and barefaced round about Westminster Hall, and show him at the bar of all the courts, and so back to the Fleet.—Abridged from Spence's Equitable Jurisdiction , vol. i. p. 376.]

'Gainst Weldon Mylward files a bill,
But doth his replication fill
With scandalous and idle matter,
That would disgrace the maddest hatter.
Woe is me for Mylward! [60]

'Twas sixscore sheets, it might have been
Contained, and amply, in sixteen;
So after that the court hath risen
Must Mylward Fleetward go to prison.
Woe is me for Mylward!

And two days afterwards 'tis meet
That by the Warden of the Fleet
He be led on in slow progression
Through every court that sits in session.
Woe is me for Mylward!

The pleading writ with words so fair
Must Mylward like a tabard wear,
A hole therein, the Warden cuts it,
A head put through it, Mylward puts it.
Woe is me for Mylward! [61]

The bar makes merry at his shame;
What careth he? He winneth fame,
Three hundred years his reputation
Hath rested on that replication.
Woe is me for Mylward!

HAMPDEN v. WALSH

WILLIS v. THE BISHOP OF OXFORD

Aid me, Muses! my endeavour is to sing a woful song,
How a very learned bishop in the Arches Court went wrong.
Aid me, for duplex querela is an uninviting theme,
And the practice of the Arches raises no poetic dream. [63]
'Tis the Reverend Child Willis, child in name but not in age,
Comes he to the Court of Arches burning with a noble rage,
Filing his duplex querela , claiming for himself thereby
Vicarage of Drayton Parslow, or to know the reason why.
"Reason why?" the bishop answers; "that is not so far to seek.
Little Latin have you, Willis, innocent are you of Greek.
You were specially examined by my good Archdeacon Pott;
He reported to me promptly, 'Greek and Latin all forgot,
Non idoneus is Willis, minus et sufficiens ,
He may have a sanum corpus , but he lacks a sana mens .'" [64]
"Nay," says Willis, "such an answer is but trifling with the court,
I have preached a Latin sermon, and the classics are my forte,
You must name the books I failed in, you must give me every chance
Of a fresh examination at the hands of Lord Penzance."
Lord Penzance supported Willis: "Bishop, you must file," said he,
"Some more tangible objection, some less vague and general plea.
As it stands I cannot gather what it is you ploughed him in,
Whether Hellenistic aorists or the Latin word for sin."
But alas! the world has never known as yet what Willis did,
In the breast of the Archdeacon still it lies a secret hid. [65]
Was his Latin prose defective? Did his style of writing show
More resemblance to Tertullian than to Tullius Cicero?
Were his dates a little shaky? Could it, could it be that he
Confidently made Augustine flourish at a date B.C. ?
None will know save Pott, Archdeacon, for alas! the patroness
Showed no mercy to Child Willis in the day of his distress.
She revoked the presentation, leaving Willis in the lurch,
One of undisputed learning preached in Drayton Parslow church.
Doubly barren was his triumph, it was not a twelve-month ere
Death set up his Court of Arches, Willis did not triumph there.

DASHWOOD v. JERMYN

Captain Dashwood , who had been
In the service of the Queen,
Sick of "Eyes front" and "Attention,"
Came to London on his pension.
At the "Portland" as he stayed,
Firm the friendship that he made
With one William Richards, who
Put up at the "Portland" too.
Passed six years, then he was wrapped in
Love's embraces, vanquished captain!
"Yes," he cried, "I will; no bar shall
Stop my wedding Edith Marshall."
But there was a bar, 'twas that
He was poorer than a rat;
Indian pensions do not run
More than just enough for one. [67]
Edith, too, had not a cent,
Who would pay the rates and rent?
Two more years, and Richards moved
(He perchance had sometime loved),
Promised them an income clear,
'Twas five hundred pounds a year
For his life; when he was dead,
Then ten thousand pounds instead.
This to Dashwood in a letter
Wrote he, deeming it was better
They should marry soon while he
Lived their happiness to see.
'Twas a modest sum, but marriage
May be blest without a carriage,
Forty pounds a month and more
Keep the wolf from near the door.
So they wed for worse or better,
On the faith of Richards' letter. [68]
Scarcely was a quarter's payment
Due when mourning was their raiment.
Richards died. Alas! no cash would
Find its way to Captain Dashwood.
Dashwood's head began to swim—
Not a shilling left to him!
"Ha, I'll have it still," cried he;
"Justice dwells in Chancery."
So the case was straightway taken
To the court of V.-C. Bacon.
Vainly Dashwood cash expended
The executors defended,
Claiming that what Richards wrote
Was not worth a five-pound note;
First because the dead testator
Well, not wisely, loved the "cratur,"
More than that, had often been
In delirium tremens seen; [69]
Secondly, because he signed
When he did not know his mind;
Third, because pollicitation
Is not good consideration.
Law, of justice independent,
Gave its judgment for defendant.
Poorer than he was at first,
That unhappy plaintiff cursed,
With a special satisfaction
Cursed the day he brought his action.
Would that he'd in India tarried!
Would that he had never married!
He, alas, is tied for life
Pauper to a pauper wife,
Scarce consoled that on his name
Equity reports shower fame,
Bearing down to endless ages
Dashwood's story on their pages.

EX PARTE JONES

FINLAY v. CHIRNEY

POLLARD v. PHOTOGRAPHIC COMPANY

THE MINNEAPOLIS CASE

Kind reader, tarry here, nor miss
The law of Minneapolis.
There was a carpenter called Brown,
A citizen of that great town,
Who stood his "inexpressive she"
A dollar's worth of comedy.
Was it a Gaiety burlesque,
Or labour of Norwegian desk?
Or did they spout in stagey tones
Morality by H. A. Jones?
Or tear romance to rags and set it
In heavy platitudes by Pettit?
I know not, and it matters not,
The subject I have clean forgot. [74]
Sufficient that the pair did sit
In expectation in the pit,
An expectation not fulfilled,
'Twas otherwise by fortune willed.
Before this loving couple sat
In solitary state a hat—
A hat, I say, for in their wonder
They never noticed what was under,
The wearer must have been a "human,"
But might have been a man or woman.
'Twas like a mountain crowned with trees
Amid the pathless Pyrenees,
Or like a garden planned by Paxton,
Or colophon designed by Caxton,
So intricate the work; and flowers
Were trained to climb its soaring towers,
Convolvulus and candytuft,
And 'mid them water-wagtails stuffed. [75]
Such splendour never yet, I wis,
Had shone in Minneapolis.
But Brown was in a sore dilemma,
A dollar he had paid for Emma
To see a play, and not a hat;
A dollar, it was dear at that.
And Emma—disappointment racked her,
She never saw a single actor.
So Brown, with visage thunder-black,
Demanded both his dollars back.
The man who took the cash said, "Sonny,
Our rule is not to give back money.
But if you'll come another night,
Maybe you'll get a better sight."
So Brown went home and nursed his sorrow,
His writ he issued on the morrow.
A hundred dollars was his claim,
And the young lady claimed the same. [76]
The case was argued, on revision
Of pleadings, this was the decision:
"The theatre's defence is bad,
Brown paid for what he never had,
He paid when in the pit he sat
To see a play and not a hat.
To bring defendants to their senses,
I find for plaintiffs with expenses."
Justitiæ columna sis ,
Wise judge of Minneapolis!

COMMONWEALTH v. MARZYNSKI

Translations

GREEK ANTHOLOGY

X. 48

XI. 75

XI. 141

XI. 143

XI. 147

XI. 151

XI. 152

XI. 251

XI. 350

XI. 376

Once to Diodorus came a client in a state of doubt,
And to that most learned counsel thus he set the matter out:
"Alpha Beta found a slave-girl who had run away from me: [87]
To a slave of his he wed her, though she was my property,
Well he knew she was my chattel; she has had a child or two;
Now I cannot tell for certain whose the children are, can you?"
Diodorus thought, consulted all authorities on "Slave,"
To his client turned his furrowed brows and slowly answer gave:
"'Tis to you or to the other who, you say, has done you wrong,
That the children of the handmaid rightfully of course belong,
Your best plan will be the matter in the proper court to place,
So you'll get a good opinion whether you have any case."

Agathias.

Plan , 193

Appendix , 385

MARTIAL

In Caium

In Causidicum

In Postumum Causidicum

In Cinnam

THE COURT OF REASON

A thousand doubts and pleadings in a day
Are filed in Empress Reason's court supreme
By angry Love—his eyes with anger gleam.
"Which of us twain hath been more faithful, say.
'Tis all through me that Cino can display
The sail of fame on life's unhappy stream."
"Thee," quoth I, "root of all my woe I deem,
I found what gall beneath thy sweetness lay."
Then he: "Ah, traitorous and truant slave!
Are these the thanks thou renderest, ingrate,
For giving thee a maid without a peer?"
"Thy left," cried I, "slew what thy right hand gave."
"Not so," said he. The judge, "Your wrath abate.
I must have time to give true judgment here."

Cino da Pistoia.

TO ROME

JUSTICE

THE POET AND THE ADVOCATE

Glory and gain thus mixed distract the thought,
We owe to honour all, to fortune nought;
The poet, like the soldier, scorns for pay
Peruvian gold, but seeks the wreath of bay. [95]
How is the advocate the poet's peer?
The poet's glory is complete and clear;
He far outlives the advocate's renown,
Patru is e'en by Scarron's name weighed down.
The bar of Greece and Rome you point me out,
A bar that trained great men, I do not doubt,
For then chicane with language void of sense
Had not deformed the law and eloquence.
Purge the tribune of all this monstrous growth,
I mount it, and my soul will sink, though loth,
Will yield to fortune and will speak in prose.
But since reform in this so slowly grows,
Leave me my tastes, for I aspire to be
By verse ennobled to posterity,
To hold first place in arts above the law,
More grave and noble than it ever saw.
Fraud in this age of ours unpunished can
Tread down the equity so dear to man. [96]
Can you for spirits just and generous find
A fairer cause to plead before mankind?
Mother or stepmother let Fortune be,
The theatre and not the bar for me;
For client virtue, truth for counsel's wage;
For judge the present and the coming age.

Piron , La Métromanie , Act iii. Sc. 7.

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