So, Hall McAllister, you'll not be warned—
  My protest slighted, admonition scorned!
  To save your scoundrel client from a cell
  As loth to swallow him as he to swell
  Its sum of meals insurgent (it decries
  All wars intestinal with meats that rise)
  You turn your scurril tongue against the press
  And damn the agency you ought to bless.
  Had not the press with all its hundred eyes
  Discerned the wolf beneath the sheep's disguise
  And raised the cry upon him, he to-day
  Would lack your company, and you would lack his pay.

  Talk not of "hire" and consciences for sale—
  You whose profession 'tis to threaten, rail,
  Calumniate and libel at the will
  Of any villain who can pay the bill—
  You whose most honest dollars all were got
  By saying for a fee "the thing that's not!"
  To you 'tis one, to challenge or defend;
  Clients are means, their money is an end.
  In my profession sometimes, as in yours
  Always, a payment large enough secures
  A mercenary service to defend
  The guilty or the innocent to rend.
  But mark the difference, nor think it slight:
  We do not hold it proper, just and right;
  Of selfish lies a little still we shame
  And give our villainies another name.
  Hypocrisy's an ugly vice, no doubt,
  But blushing sinners can't get on without.
  Happy the lawyer!—at his favored hands
  Nor truth nor decency the world demands.
  Secure in his immunity from shame,
  His cheek ne'er kindles with the tell-tale flame.
  His brains for sale, morality for hire,
  In every land and century a licensed liar!

  No doubt, McAllister, you can explain
  How honorable 'tis to lie for gain,
  Provided only that the jury's made
  To understand that lying is your trade.
  A hundred thousand volumes, broad and flat,
  (The Bible not included) proving that,
  Have been put forth, though still the doubt remains
  If God has read them with befitting pains.
  No Morrow could get justice, you'll declare,
  If none who knew him foul affirmed him fair.
  Ingenious man! how easy 'tis to raise
  An argument to justify the course that pays!

  I grant you, if you like, that men may need
  The services performed for crime by greed,—
  Grant that the perfect welfare of the State
  Requires the aid of those who in debate
  As mercenaries lost in early youth
  The fine distinction between lie and truth—
  Who cheat in argument and set a snare
  To take the feet of Justice unaware—
  Who serve with livelier zeal when rogues assist
  With perjury, embracery (the list
  Is long to quote) than when an honest soul,
  Scorning to plot, conspire, intrigue, cajole,
  Reminds them (their astonishment how great!)
  He'd rather suffer wrong than perpetrate.
  I grant, in short, 'tis better all around
  That ambidextrous consciences abound
  In courts of law to do the dirty work
  That self-respecting scavengers would shirk.
  What then? Who serves however clean a plan
  By doing dirty work, he is a dirty man!