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And legal impudence that few could reach: Such was the quibbling lawyer, such the man Who, hemming thrice,-look'd big-and thus


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Splitbrain. My Lord, and Jurors, in this land

of freedom, With honest laws and lawyers, when we need'em; This case must make all loyal subjects wince Who hate a libel, and who love their Prince. What's Satire ?- Why the very worst of crimes, A drawback on the vices of the times; A glass that brings the villain forth to view, And leaves our friends, the Clergy, nought to do! Who, though, poor souls ! they lecture night and

day, Can hardly keep old Lucifer at bay. Suppose a Peer of fashionable life, In some odd whim seduce his neighbour's wife, His youth or noble blood must plead his cause, And shield him from the vengeance of the laws ! Nay, grant him crippled, old, with rev'rend hairs, Pray might not passion seize him unawares ? If he betray'd his friend, what can be said for't? *

Nothing, most learned Serjeant! but a great deal against it!

He must not be condemn'd to lose his Head Fort:
All men have had their frailties since the flood,
And,“ Homo sum,” my Lord—we're flesh and blood!
The Satirist I deem a canting rogue
Who darts his quill at any vice in vogue :
His wit is dull, his morals out of date,
If aim'd against the follies of the great.
But grant that Vice, for decency at least,
Requires some gentle chiding from the priest,
There's Parson D—“At Home" in time of need,
With his well-bred accommodating creed,
To put Court folly instantly to flight
In language most respectful and polite.
Not wishing now to state the case at large,
I leave it to his Lordship in the charge;
Your Verdict must find guilty the Defendant,
And pack him off to Jail-so there's an end on't.

Verax. On upright British Jurors, British Laws, I boldly rest the merits of my cause. Too long has vice been sanction'd by the great, And sapp'd the strong foundations of the state; Too long have subtle pimps and flatt'rers Garble.

Hold ! This mode of pleading, Sir! must be controllid: This strange recrimination sets aloof All due decorum :


But, my Lord, I've proof, Plain downright proof, I hold it in my hand ;Why ev'ry honest Jury in the land Know H-d-t, H-t-d (barring all lampoons), To be sad gamesters, flatt'rers, and buffoons. This never can be libellous I trust, When all the world allows it to be just.

Gar. Yes, grossly libellous, you know it well, And Scandalum magnatum-false as Hell !*. Your client is an universal pest, The rogue

has libell’d Me among the rest ; He says I'm hot, and irritated soon,Yes—when some blockhead puts me out of tune ! That

rage for ever flushes in my cheek: The villain fibs !- no barrister so meek. That guttling Epicurus in his stye, Ne'er gormandiz'd more greedily than I, Which (curse his base assurance !) is a lie. A twelvemonth spent in Newgate, dark and still, Will cure his scribbling vein--or nothing will.

Garble had high authority for his oath. George the Second and the late Chancellor Thurlow were both profane

Queen Elizabeth swore a good round hand; and, by all accounts, her maids of honour could prattle very prettily.


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Ver. The man is studious, well-inform’d, though

No Harpy's smile has he, no flatt'rer's tongue;
Untutor’d in the manners of a Court,
He cannot yet hold decency in sport.
To vice he's neither bending nor polite,
But drags the grey impostor forth to sight,
Whate'er his rank or station, high or low;
He courts no titled friend, he dreads no foe.

Split. Henceforth no sprightly Peer can drink

and wench, No Justice fall asleep upon the bench, * No Col’nel pimp, no Priest disgrace his gown, But he shall be placarded through the town! E’en you, my Lord, so eloquent and grave, May chance to grow immortal in a stave, While ev'ry minstrel of the Grub Street Choir Unaw'd, unshackled, can command the lyre.

Gar. As Brother Splitbrain argues-black is

whiteAnd Truth's a lie, and wrong (in Law !) is right. May this bold-fronted libeller of Kings,

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* This occurred very recently in the Court of Common Pleas_"Good old Mansfield sometimes nods !"

Who talks of worth, and such discarded things;
This Fanatic, of principles so nice !
Be taught to know the dignity of vice,
When veil'd beneath the splendor of a crown,
A Lordling's ermine, or a Statesman's gown.
Come, Jurymen, dispatch-nay, prithee, pox,
Don't sit a twelvemonth quibbling in the Box!
I'm (Deuce confound your stupid souls, in Styx !)
Engag'd to dine at Carlton House at six.


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