The Works of John Hall-Stevenson :: :: University of Virginia Library

Pray tell me, Sir, in what respect,
What harm, says Pert, in a pert gown,
Do you imagine or expect
From us, the servants of the Crown.
Why none at all, if you were wise;
And there, perhaps, the danger lies.
But let me tell you, said Sir John,
(It was a roguish Whig that spoke)
How Æsop once was set upon,
And how he flung them with a joke.
A set of jolly tars one day,
Of Athens the supporters,
Joking with Æsop in their way,
Just like a set of drunken porters;
Come on, cries one, my cunning man,
Unload that pack
Upon your back,
Give us a Fable spick and span.
Then claps him on the back, and hollows;
On which, out came the tale that follows:

Nature had suffer'd a contusion,
Old Ocean from his seat had wander'd,
When Jove, to clear up the confusion
And bring things to their proper standard,
Cried out, Drink, Earth, with all thy might,
Three drunken bouts will set all right.
She drank such draughts for the first time,
The mountains, soaking like a toast,
Uncover'd to the roots almost,
Appear'd with heaps of mud and slime.
The second bout, the trees appear'd;
The third, the valleys were quite clear'd:
Had she continu'd in that cue,
It would have been the worse for you,
For by and by
She must have drunk the ocean dry;
And, if she had, my witty men,
What would you sailors have done then?

Now, Sir, by way of application,
Pray look at our low situation,

Surrounded by a sea of law,
In imitation of our betters,
We try to keep this sea in awe,
Like Xerxes and the Dutch, with fetters;
That is, with many a bank and fence,
Labour and infinite expence,
We keep in pretty decent bounds
Prerogative, or royal pride,
That overflow our neighbours' grounds,
And spread destruction far and wide.
Suppose, from any cause you please,
You, who are trusted with the keys,
Who ought to watch against abuses,
Should think it neither harm nor sin,
To open all your gates and sluices,
And let the foaming waters in.
In such a case, to say no more,
Reck'ning all those that must be drown'd,
And some perhaps that may be found
Knock'd on the head ashore,
Tell me, ye men of subtile brain,
How many Lawyers will remain?