University of Virginia Library

Eudocius.

'Tis well—if this is reasoning right,
I'm not in such a woeful plight;
But in few words can make it clear
That jurymen like clocks appear.
A clock is form'd with curious art,
And wisdom shewn every part:
And weights, and wheels, and springs combine
To prove that motion's the design:
But whether it shall go or stop,
Depends upon the winding up:
For of itself it hath no power
To point the time, or strike the hour,
The master's over-ruling hand
Hath all its movements at command:
He turns a screw to make it go,
Just as he pleases, fast or slow:
To STRIKE, or SILENT, sets a pin
According to the humour he's in.
The poor machine, without dispute,
Or dins our ears, or stands quite mute.
The clock presumes to point at four,
The master says, 'tis false I'm sure;
And by his arbitrary power,
Soon makes it tell another hour.
And thus the clock the time shall measure,
Not by the sun, but his good pleasure.
And what's a jury but a sort
Of passive time-piece for a court;
A clock, the key of which in trust is
Of learned judge, or unlearn'd justice.
A jury's power exists or ceases,
According to the court's caprices,
Nor dare, or to release, or damn us,
By a true bill, or ignoramus;
Unless the judge first gives the cue,
T'inform them what they ought to do.
That this is law I do aver,
And for authority refer
To Bailey's journal, where you'll find
The doctrine clear, by Adrian sign'd.