 | The Distressed Poet |  |
A Welch Attorney was her Sire,
A thing of petulance and fire,
Who would for ten pence go to law,
Then either make, or find a flaw,
And by his art, and his delusion,
Set a whole parish in confusion.
For plunder ever lying wait,
He'd mortgage thrice the same estate,
Would take a bribe on either side,
And Justice and the Devil defy'd.
A thing of petulance and fire,
Who would for ten pence go to law,
Then either make, or find a flaw,
And by his art, and his delusion,
Set a whole parish in confusion.
For plunder ever lying wait,
He'd mortgage thrice the same estate,
Would take a bribe on either side,
And Justice and the Devil defy'd.
| The Distressed Poet | |