The English Dance of Death from the designs of Thomas Rowlandson, with metrical illustrations, by the author of "Doctor Syntax" [i.e. William Combe] |
 | I. |
The Catchpole.
|
| II. |
 | The English Dance of Death |  |
147
The Catchpole.
LAW is, or should the offspring be
Of Justice and Humanity,
And prove as plain as A, B, C.
Should go strait forward on its way,
Nor e'er be subject to delay:
No crosses should its steps prolong
To what is right, or what is wrong.
The Law is just,—the Law is good,
While suffer'd to be understood;
But, 'tis the Practice that confounds it,
Winding its mystic Nonsense round it;
And such fallacious arts possessing,
It to a curse converts the blessing.
Of Justice and Humanity,
And prove as plain as A, B, C.
Should go strait forward on its way,
Nor e'er be subject to delay:
No crosses should its steps prolong
To what is right, or what is wrong.
The Law is just,—the Law is good,
While suffer'd to be understood;
But, 'tis the Practice that confounds it,
Winding its mystic Nonsense round it;
And such fallacious arts possessing,
It to a curse converts the blessing.
Practice, the fruit of am'rous sport,
In King's-Bench Walks, or Fig-Tree Court;
What time Contention did constrain
To his embrace the Fiend Chicane;
When, drugg'd with Pleadings, Justice slept,
While Reason saw the deed, and wept.
Then issued forth the Parchment brood
Of Writs, ill-fated brotherhood;
Born to entangle and perplex,
Their Cradle,—the Attorney's desk:
Fi Fa's, Ca Sa's, and all the fry
That fill the Catchpole's Diary:
Then crabbed Special Pleading comes,
With all its Clerks, and all its Bums.
O Special Pleading!—what an Art
T'enlarge the mind, and mend the heart!
O Special Pleading!—what a Science
To bid all Common Sense defiance,
Which not an head can understand,
Unless 'tis deck'd with wig and band.
In King's-Bench Walks, or Fig-Tree Court;
148
To his embrace the Fiend Chicane;
When, drugg'd with Pleadings, Justice slept,
While Reason saw the deed, and wept.
Then issued forth the Parchment brood
Of Writs, ill-fated brotherhood;
Born to entangle and perplex,
Their Cradle,—the Attorney's desk:
Fi Fa's, Ca Sa's, and all the fry
That fill the Catchpole's Diary:
Then crabbed Special Pleading comes,
With all its Clerks, and all its Bums.
O Special Pleading!—what an Art
T'enlarge the mind, and mend the heart!
O Special Pleading!—what a Science
To bid all Common Sense defiance,
Which not an head can understand,
Unless 'tis deck'd with wig and band.
But He, perhaps, is worth the knowing,
Who sets all these fine things a-going.
Who sets all these fine things a-going.
149
Your foul Attorney is a wretch,
That's far inferior to Jack Ketch.
—When grave, lamenting Law has done
Its justice on some wicked one;
That Minister performs his part
Or on the scaffold, or the cart:
Life's the due forfeit of the deed:
The Felons hang—the Traitors bleed:
Convicted crimes their fate endure,
And life and limb are more secure.
—But, 'tis the Pettifogger's art,
With practis'd craft, and flinty heart,
With Fictions, Quirks, and tardy Pleas,
To aid th'accumulating Fees.
He lifts his head at others' ruin,
Nor fears to profit by undoing:
Of his whole Life the great intent
Is to perplex and circumvent;
He guides his keen, voracious sense,
With all the zeal of impudence;
And pledges it a just vocation
To quicken by Procrastination.
—With the vile Catch-pole at his heels,
Think you the Pettifogger feels
For aught, but how the Suit proceeds?
Nay, he will mock the heart that bleeds.
He idly jokes, or pertly prates
O'er the distress he meditates;
And cheers, with looks alert and gay,
The blood-hound to his destin'd prey.
Will he not smile when Knavery gains
The pelf which Honesty disdains?
Think you he frowns when Rascals thrive,
And Virtue struggles hard to live?
What's it to him though orphans mourn,
Though husbands from their wives are torn,
Though houseless children, turn'd abroad,
Ask alms, or pilfer on the road,
So that low-born Contention reigns;
The Dæmon that rewards his pains.
Such Caitiffs vile will risk their souls
In cheating honest men and fools.
Had I the pow'r, as I've the will,
My patriot wishes to fulfil;
Justice at length should fully meet 'em,
And with the Laws of Turkey greet 'em:
To such as these I'd give no quarter,
But pound the Rascals in a mortar .
That's far inferior to Jack Ketch.
—When grave, lamenting Law has done
Its justice on some wicked one;
That Minister performs his part
Or on the scaffold, or the cart:
Life's the due forfeit of the deed:
The Felons hang—the Traitors bleed:
Convicted crimes their fate endure,
And life and limb are more secure.
—But, 'tis the Pettifogger's art,
With practis'd craft, and flinty heart,
With Fictions, Quirks, and tardy Pleas,
To aid th'accumulating Fees.
He lifts his head at others' ruin,
Nor fears to profit by undoing:
Of his whole Life the great intent
Is to perplex and circumvent;
He guides his keen, voracious sense,
With all the zeal of impudence;
And pledges it a just vocation
To quicken by Procrastination.
150
Think you the Pettifogger feels
For aught, but how the Suit proceeds?
Nay, he will mock the heart that bleeds.
He idly jokes, or pertly prates
O'er the distress he meditates;
And cheers, with looks alert and gay,
The blood-hound to his destin'd prey.
Will he not smile when Knavery gains
The pelf which Honesty disdains?
Think you he frowns when Rascals thrive,
And Virtue struggles hard to live?
What's it to him though orphans mourn,
Though husbands from their wives are torn,
Though houseless children, turn'd abroad,
Ask alms, or pilfer on the road,
So that low-born Contention reigns;
The Dæmon that rewards his pains.
Such Caitiffs vile will risk their souls
In cheating honest men and fools.
Had I the pow'r, as I've the will,
My patriot wishes to fulfil;
151
And with the Laws of Turkey greet 'em:
To such as these I'd give no quarter,
But pound the Rascals in a mortar .
To cure these evils Redesdale came,
An ever venerated name;
Who, for his labours to improve
The rights of Justice, and remove,
With wise reform, the cruel power
That prey'd on Freedom's rightful hour,
And save Misfortune from the thralls
Which dwell within the Prison walls,
Deserves as well the sculptur'd stone
As e'en the laurell'd Wellington.
—The one, amid the Fields of War,
Chain'd Fortune to his rapid car,
And to blest Britain's cherish'd name,
Adds a resplendent wreath of Fame:—
—The other forms his well-wrought plan,
To aid the civil rights of Man;
And through his country to increase,
The blessings of domestic Peace.
An ever venerated name;
Who, for his labours to improve
The rights of Justice, and remove,
With wise reform, the cruel power
That prey'd on Freedom's rightful hour,
And save Misfortune from the thralls
Which dwell within the Prison walls,
Deserves as well the sculptur'd stone
As e'en the laurell'd Wellington.
—The one, amid the Fields of War,
Chain'd Fortune to his rapid car,
And to blest Britain's cherish'd name,
Adds a resplendent wreath of Fame:—
152
To aid the civil rights of Man;
And through his country to increase,
The blessings of domestic Peace.
But 'twill appear, in every view,
As the Muse doth her tale pursue,
Tho' much is done—there's much to do.
As the Muse doth her tale pursue,
Tho' much is done—there's much to do.
Honest Tom Frolicsome was known
At ev'ry Coffee-house in Town.
No one more free from pride or art,
Or e'er could boast a warmer heart:
He never saw a luckless friend
To whom he did not give or lend;
Nor e'er was known to be unwilling
To share his guinea or his shilling.
—It so fell out that one fine day,
He met Jack Shiftly in his way;
Who told a melancholy tale,
How Lawyers threat, and Duns assail.
So Tom, to save him from the paw
Of the fell Myrmidons of Law,
Consented kindly to be bound
In the vast sum of Twenty pound.
Jack, with profound professions, said,
“Within the month it shall be paid.”
The month soon pass'd, and it occurr'd
To honest Jack to keep his word;
But, as his debts he could not pay,
Why Jack took fright and ran away,
And left his friend to be the debtor,
With all the threats of Lawyer's letter.
But Nathan Shark not only wrote,
He paid a visit with the Note:
For e'en a rap at any door,
Would tell for Six and eight-pence more:—
But friendly Tom, whene'er at home,
Was ne'er denied, let who would come.
—Good Mr. Shark, says Tom, d'ye see,
This is a trifling sum to me:
But it so happens that, just now,
My Banker's book is rather low;
And, as the Debt is not my own,
A fact to you so clearly known;
And as I'm sure, you won't deny
My honour and ability,
If till Monday next you wait,
Th'indulgence will not be too great:
At ten o'clock, you'll send or come;—
I will engage to be at home,
When your demand I'll truly pay,
With thanks, for your four days' delay.
Shark bow'd and smil'd; for here he saw
There was a loop-hole for the Law.
To wait would never make a bill,
Nor help the Lawyer's purse to fill;
So the next day, as Tom was walking.
And with two charming Misses talking,
Dick Catchpole did the party meet
And, with a Writ, his Honour greet.
—You are arrested now you know,
And so with me you e'en must go,
Whether it is your will, or no.
This fellow was a perfect brute,
A Sheriff's vilest substitute:
His wishes base, his purpose dark,
Just a fit instrument for Shark.
His housebreaking, burglarious Sire,
Did before Newgate wall expire;
And his Dam kept a Little-Go:
When, for a trifling trick or two,
She, by due course of law was sent
Safe to Port Jackson, to repent.
At ev'ry Coffee-house in Town.
No one more free from pride or art,
Or e'er could boast a warmer heart:
He never saw a luckless friend
To whom he did not give or lend;
Nor e'er was known to be unwilling
To share his guinea or his shilling.
—It so fell out that one fine day,
He met Jack Shiftly in his way;
Who told a melancholy tale,
How Lawyers threat, and Duns assail.
So Tom, to save him from the paw
Of the fell Myrmidons of Law,
153
In the vast sum of Twenty pound.
Jack, with profound professions, said,
“Within the month it shall be paid.”
The month soon pass'd, and it occurr'd
To honest Jack to keep his word;
But, as his debts he could not pay,
Why Jack took fright and ran away,
And left his friend to be the debtor,
With all the threats of Lawyer's letter.
But Nathan Shark not only wrote,
He paid a visit with the Note:
For e'en a rap at any door,
Would tell for Six and eight-pence more:—
But friendly Tom, whene'er at home,
Was ne'er denied, let who would come.
—Good Mr. Shark, says Tom, d'ye see,
This is a trifling sum to me:
But it so happens that, just now,
My Banker's book is rather low;
154
A fact to you so clearly known;
And as I'm sure, you won't deny
My honour and ability,
If till Monday next you wait,
Th'indulgence will not be too great:
At ten o'clock, you'll send or come;—
I will engage to be at home,
When your demand I'll truly pay,
With thanks, for your four days' delay.
Shark bow'd and smil'd; for here he saw
There was a loop-hole for the Law.
To wait would never make a bill,
Nor help the Lawyer's purse to fill;
So the next day, as Tom was walking.
And with two charming Misses talking,
Dick Catchpole did the party meet
And, with a Writ, his Honour greet.
—You are arrested now you know,
And so with me you e'en must go,
Whether it is your will, or no.
155
A Sheriff's vilest substitute:
His wishes base, his purpose dark,
Just a fit instrument for Shark.
His housebreaking, burglarious Sire,
Did before Newgate wall expire;
And his Dam kept a Little-Go:
When, for a trifling trick or two,
She, by due course of law was sent
Safe to Port Jackson, to repent.
Tom's ruddy cheeks lost all their blood;
But when he found how matters stood,—
Why then, said he, the debt I'll pay;
And let me go, without delay.
No, no, said Dick—that will not do;
I know a better thing or two:
I can't tell what the costs may be;
And, till they're paid,—you'll rest with me.
So no more words,—for you must come—
—Then send to Shark.—He's not at home:
He to a Ven'son feast is gone
At Wandsworth, or at Wimbledon:
Therefore, come on, and rest in peace,
To-morrow you'll have your release.
But when he found how matters stood,—
Why then, said he, the debt I'll pay;
And let me go, without delay.
No, no, said Dick—that will not do;
I know a better thing or two:
I can't tell what the costs may be;
And, till they're paid,—you'll rest with me.
So no more words,—for you must come—
—Then send to Shark.—He's not at home:
156
At Wandsworth, or at Wimbledon:
Therefore, come on, and rest in peace,
To-morrow you'll have your release.
Thus, as he told his stern command,
A griesly Spectre's fleshless hand
His shoulder touch'd:—It chill'd his blood,
And at the sight he trembling stood.
—You long have ow'd, the Phantom said,
What now must instantly be paid.—
—O give me Time!—Thou Caitiff Dun,
You know, full well, you gave him none.
Your Life's the debt that I am suing;
'Tis the last process, Master Bruin.—
—I'll put in Bail above;—No, no:
Old Nick shall be your Bail below.
A griesly Spectre's fleshless hand
His shoulder touch'd:—It chill'd his blood,
And at the sight he trembling stood.
—You long have ow'd, the Phantom said,
What now must instantly be paid.—
—O give me Time!—Thou Caitiff Dun,
You know, full well, you gave him none.
Your Life's the debt that I am suing;
'Tis the last process, Master Bruin.—
—I'll put in Bail above;—No, no:
Old Nick shall be your Bail below.
| The English Dance of Death | |