The Works of Capt. Alex. Radcliffe :: :: University of Virginia Library

Dear Friends, and good People, with Gowns, and with none;
I'll tell you a Tale of a parcel of Whiggs,
The Spawn of some Rebells in year Forty One,
Who, like their damn'd Sires, pursue their Intrigues:

111

It occasions amazing,
That some Members of Grays Inn,
Turn Tail to their King, from whom they'd their Raising:
You Mortals of Law be confounded for ever,
Who refuse an Address made to your Law-giver.

II

By a musty old Custom, call'd Order of Pension.
Giving Thanks to the King was judg'd an Affray,
And straight they Decreed, 'twas just to Disbench One,
For shewing himself more Loyal than they:
So thus the Dom. Com.
Speak loudly for some,
But propose the King's Int'rest the word shall be Mum.
You Mortals of Law be confounded for ever;
Who refuse an Address made to your Law-giver.

112

III

Men of the Sword they say make a Division,
And militant Lawyers their Wisdoms disown,
So that from the King to have had a Commission,
Does not consist with a tatter'd old Gown:
These men make pretence,
Both to Law and to Sense,
Yet say the Law's broke, if you fight for your Prince,
You Mortals of Law be confounded for ever,
Who refuse an Address made to your Law-giver.

IV

From th' Ancients (they urge) this Order comes out,
And therefore expect a ready Obedience,
But how can that be, since their Masterships doat,
And they themselves have forgotten Allegiance:
Therefore let's pray,
Both by Night and by Day,
That they may Conform, and then we'll Obey.

113

You Mortals of Law be confounded for ever,
Who refuse an Address made to your Law-giver.

V

But wou'd it not move a Heart made of Flint,
To think that a House must continue no longer,
Since the grave Gubernators refus'd to consent,
Except 'twere propos'd by a Bar-Iron-monger;
Or else by a Brewer,
Who serves them with Beer,
So small, that they'r fill'd with Suspicion and Fear.
You Mortals of Law be confounded for ever;
Who refuse an Address made to your Law-giver.

VI

Now some of the younger disconsolate fry,
As if they'd been still at—Quæso Magister,
Under such strange Apprehensions did lye,
They desir'd to consult the Chappel-Minister,

114

One of the young men,
Wou'd not handle a Pen,
For my Lord and my Father won't take me agen.
You Mortals of Law be confounded for ever,
Who refuse an Address made to your Law-giver.

VII

The number of those who refus'd to subscribe,
Are fitly compar'd to the days of poor Job,
Few and Evil—and of a Satanical Tribe,
Who scandalize all the rest of the Robe;
Those of the Bar-mess,
Who cry'd—No Address,
Found their Party of Faction were two to one less:
You Mortals of Law be confounded for ever,
Who refuse an Address made to your Law-giver.

115

VIII

Now you have heard of these Lawyers Demurrer,
And how their weak Arguments are over-rul'd,
Without all Dispute will think an Abhorrer,
Of them and Petitions, are loyally bold.
For such Impudence,
Both at Bar and at Bench,
Proceeds from those Men who their King would Retrench;
You Mortals of Law be confounded for ever,
Who refuse an Address made to your Law-giver.