The Project Gutenberg eBook of Briefless Ballads and Legal Lyrics, by James Williams

Without my dinner here I lie,
And all because that proctor
With her stout bull-dogs passed, and I
Mocked her.

For Clara is at Girton too,
That dragon is her tutor,
I threatened once what I would do,
Shoot her.

Her life by Clara's tears was saved,
Wherefore she doth detest me,
And hither hungry and unshaved
Pressed me.

I would that I could have commenced
An action 'gainst that devil,
Like that once brought by Kemp against
Neville.[H]

To her I owe the statute framed
That one against it sinning
Should dwell within the house that's named
Spinning.

Ah me! it runs in sections three:
Who speaks to Girton student
Is fined to teach him how to be
Prudent.

Who loves a Girton girl must do
Twelve months on bread and water,
From a digestive point of view
Slaughter.

Who kisses her commits a crime
By hanging expiated,
And she in tears must spend her time
Gated.

Would that at Oxford I had been,
At Balliol or at Merton,
And then I never should have seen
Girton.

Go down I must, no more shall I
And Clara cross the same bridge;
Still, Granta, art thou her and my
Cambridge.

Some day on this her eyes may light,
This doggerel stiff and jointless,
And she may own it is not quite
Pointless.

How we found our Verdict

We sat in the jury-box, twelve were we all,
And the clock was just pointing to ten in the hall,
His Lordship he bowed to the jury, and we
Bowed back to his Lordship as gravely as he.

The case of De Weller v. Jones was the first,
And we all settled down and prepared for the worst
When old Smithers, Q.C., began slowly to preach
Of a promise of marriage and action for breach.

A barmaid the plaintiff was, wondrous the skill
Wherewith she was wont her tall tankards to fill,
The defendant, a publican, sought for his bride
Such a paragon, urged by professional pride.

But the course of true love ran no smoother for her
Than the Pas de Calais or the bark of a fir,
The defendant discovered a widow with gold
In the bank and the plaintiff was left in the cold.

An hour Smithers spoke, and he said that the heart
Of the plaintiff at Jones's fell touch flew apart,
But a cheque for a thousand might help to repair
The destruction effected by love and despair.

Miss de Weller was called, and in ladylike tones
She described all the injury suffered from Jones,
How he called her at first "Angelina," and this
Soon cooled to "Miss Weller," and lastly to "Miss."

But the jury were shaken a little when Gore
Cross-examined about her engagements before,
For Jones was the sixth of the strings to her bow
And with five other verdicts she solaced her woe.

Re-examined by Smithers, she won us again,
For the tears of a maid are a terror to men,
Then his Lordship awoke from his nap and explained
How love that is frequent is love that is feigned.

Miss de Weller looked daggers, and under the paint
Of her cheeks she grew pale and fell down in a faint,
She played her trump-card in the late afternoon,
For damages satisfy girls who can swoon.

Till she fainted most thought that a farthing would do,
Though I was in favour of pounds—one or two;
But after the faint—and she was so well dressed—
At a hundred the void in her heart was assessed.

A Greek Libel

Archilochus.

Neobule, yesternight
Saw I thee in beauty dight,
On thy head a myrtle spray
Cast its shadow as the day
By the stars was put to flight.
Twining on thy temples white
Roses gave the myrtle light,
Sign thou wilt not say me nay,
Neobule.
Loosened from its coilèd height
Streamed thy hair in thy despite
On thy shoulders soft to stray
And to bid the bard essay
Never but of thee to write,
Neobule.

Neobule.

Sorry poet, who dost dare
Cast bold glances on my hair,
Let thy most presumptuous eyes
Seek another enterprise,
Ceasing now to linger there.
Hearken, I can tell thee where
Grow the bushes that will spare
Rods to teach thee humbler guise,
Sorry poet.
Know I not that I am fair?
Need thy halting verse declare
What my mirror daily cries?
Rid me of thy silly sighs,
Rid me of thy hateful stare,
Sorry poet.

Archilochus.

Neobule, poets see
Dreams of things that are to be.
Vengeance is the poet's trade,
Come, iambus, to my aid
'Gainst the fools who scoff at me.
All the world will laugh with glee
When they mark my verses free
Grasp thee like a pillory,
And thy scorn with scorn repaid,
Neobule.
E'en in death thou canst not flee
From the doom the Fates decree.
When my satire's keenest blade
Cuts thee to the heart, fond maid,
I shall laugh, but what of thee,
Neobule?

Le Temps Passé

Those brave old days when King Abuse did reign
We sigh for, but we shall not see again.
Then Eldon sowed the seed of equity
That grew to bounteous harvest, and with glee
A Bar of modest numbers shared the grain.
Then lived the pleaders who could issues feign,
Who blushed not to aver that France or Spain
Was in the Ward of Chepe;[I] no more can be
Those brave old days.

O'er pauper settlements men fought amain,
And golden guineas followed in their train,
John Doe then flourished like a lusty tree,
And Richard Roe brought many a noble fee,
We mourn in unremunerated pain
Those brave old days.

Lawn Tennis in the Temple Gardens

Not in contempt but to our sport inclined
Smile on us, shades of Judges short and tall
Portrayed on windows of the Temple Hall;
There was a time that ye grave thoughts resigned,
Then, warm with sack, the Serjeants' hearts waxed kind,
In mirth Lords Keepers danced the galliard all,
Not in contempt.

Of pleasures past the shadows here we find,
Gay strife on brighter swards we thus recall,
Where maiden laughter winged the flying ball;
Declare us, fair ones, with a merry mind
Not in contempt.

A Ballade of Lost Law

(Spirit of Lord Eldon speaks)

This England is gone staring mad,
She hath abolished Chancery,[J]
See the long lines of suitors, sad
To find themselves unwontedly
After one day of trial free.
Pleading and seals have gone their way.
"I know," said I, "that after me
Too quickly comes the evil day."

(Spirit of Lord Lyndhurst speaks)

I was Chief Baron, and I had
A Court of Law and Equity,[K]
The Courts at Westminster were clad
With ancient glory fair to see.
Now County Courts have come to be
Exalted high on our decay,
And every whit as good as we;
Too quickly comes the evil day.

(Shade of Butler speaks)

In days of yore we used to pad
Our deeds with words of certainty;
Alas! that now the office lad
Is qualified to grant in fee!
Lost is our old supremacy,
Lost is the delicate display
Of learning on pur autre vie;
Too quickly comes the evil day.

L'Envoi

(The Three in Chorus)

Thurlow, to thee we bend the knee,
When law was law, then men were gay,
'Tis down with port and up with tea,
Too quickly comes the evil day.

Comœdia Juris

Est omne jus forense quasi comœdia;
Hic advocatus maximas partes agit
Laudatus undique a procuratoribus,
Labore vocis redditus ditissimus;
Cui brevia nil forensis et quaestus valent
Silenter ille spectat, at pro præmio
Fruitur quietus optime comœdia.

Cases

MYLWARD v. WELDON

[The plaintiff was committed to the Fleet Prison on Feb. 8, 1596, by order of the Lord Keeper, for drawing a replication of sixscore sheets containing much impertinent matter which might well have been contained in sixteen. On Feb. 10 the Lord Keeper ordered that on the following Saturday the Warden of the Fleet should cut a hole through the replication, and put the plaintiff's head through the hole and let it hang about his shoulders with the written side outwards, and lead the plaintiff bareheaded and barefaced round about Westminster Hall, and show him at the bar of all the courts, and so back to the Fleet.—Abridged from Spence's Equitable Jurisdiction, vol. i. p. 376.]

'Gainst Weldon Mylward files a bill,
But doth his replication fill
With scandalous and idle matter,
That would disgrace the maddest hatter.
Woe is me for Mylward!

'Twas sixscore sheets, it might have been
Contained, and amply, in sixteen;
So after that the court hath risen
Must Mylward Fleetward go to prison.
Woe is me for Mylward!

And two days afterwards 'tis meet
That by the Warden of the Fleet
He be led on in slow progression
Through every court that sits in session.
Woe is me for Mylward!

The pleading writ with words so fair
Must Mylward like a tabard wear,
A hole therein, the Warden cuts it,
A head put through it, Mylward puts it.
Woe is me for Mylward!

The bar makes merry at his shame;
What careth he? He winneth fame,
Three hundred years his reputation
Hath rested on that replication.
Woe is me for Mylward!

HAMPDEN v. WALSH

"Five hundred pounds as stake I'll lay,"
Says Hampden, "that by such a day
No man of science proves to me
That earth not flat but round must be;
The earth is flat, and flats are they."
The sum Walsh holds right willingly;
But Wallace by philosophy
Proves roundness, and would take away
Five hundred pounds.

"Proof me no proofs," quoth Hampden, "Nay,
Let Wallace get it if he may,
I'll sue Walsh for it." So sues he.
"Let Wallace," hold the judges three,
"Take nought, let Walsh to Hampden pay
Five hundred pounds."

WILLIS v. THE BISHOP OF OXFORD

Aid me, Muses! my endeavour is to sing a woful song,
How a very learned bishop in the Arches Court went wrong.
Aid me, for duplex querela is an uninviting theme,
And the practice of the Arches raises no poetic dream.
'Tis the Reverend Child Willis, child in name but not in age,
Comes he to the Court of Arches burning with a noble rage,
Filing his duplex querela, claiming for himself thereby
Vicarage of Drayton Parslow, or to know the reason why.
"Reason why?" the bishop answers; "that is not so far to seek.
Little Latin have you, Willis, innocent are you of Greek.
You were specially examined by my good Archdeacon Pott;
He reported to me promptly, 'Greek and Latin all forgot,
Non idoneus is Willis, minus et sufficiens,
He may have a sanum corpus, but he lacks a sana mens.'"
"Nay," says Willis, "such an answer is but trifling with the court,
I have preached a Latin sermon, and the classics are my forte,
You must name the books I failed in, you must give me every chance
Of a fresh examination at the hands of Lord Penzance."
Lord Penzance supported Willis: "Bishop, you must file," said he,
"Some more tangible objection, some less vague and general plea.
As it stands I cannot gather what it is you ploughed him in,
Whether Hellenistic aorists or the Latin word for sin."
But alas! the world has never known as yet what Willis did,
In the breast of the Archdeacon still it lies a secret hid.
Was his Latin prose defective? Did his style of writing show
More resemblance to Tertullian than to Tullius Cicero?
Were his dates a little shaky? Could it, could it be that he
Confidently made Augustine flourish at a date B.C.?
None will know save Pott, Archdeacon, for alas! the patroness
Showed no mercy to Child Willis in the day of his distress.
She revoked the presentation, leaving Willis in the lurch,
One of undisputed learning preached in Drayton Parslow church.
Doubly barren was his triumph, it was not a twelve-month ere
Death set up his Court of Arches, Willis did not triumph there.

DASHWOOD v. JERMYN

Captain Dashwood, who had been
In the service of the Queen,
Sick of "Eyes front" and "Attention,"
Came to London on his pension.
At the "Portland" as he stayed,
Firm the friendship that he made
With one William Richards, who
Put up at the "Portland" too.
Passed six years, then he was wrapped in
Love's embraces, vanquished captain!
"Yes," he cried, "I will; no bar shall
Stop my wedding Edith Marshall."
But there was a bar, 'twas that
He was poorer than a rat;
Indian pensions do not run
More than just enough for one.
Edith, too, had not a cent,
Who would pay the rates and rent?
Two more years, and Richards moved
(He perchance had sometime loved),
Promised them an income clear,
'Twas five hundred pounds a year
For his life; when he was dead,
Then ten thousand pounds instead.
This to Dashwood in a letter
Wrote he, deeming it was better
They should marry soon while he
Lived their happiness to see.
'Twas a modest sum, but marriage
May be blest without a carriage,
Forty pounds a month and more
Keep the wolf from near the door.
So they wed for worse or better,
On the faith of Richards' letter.
Scarcely was a quarter's payment
Due when mourning was their raiment.
Richards died. Alas! no cash would
Find its way to Captain Dashwood.
Dashwood's head began to swim—
Not a shilling left to him!
"Ha, I'll have it still," cried he;
"Justice dwells in Chancery."
So the case was straightway taken
To the court of V.-C. Bacon.
Vainly Dashwood cash expended
The executors defended,
Claiming that what Richards wrote
Was not worth a five-pound note;
First because the dead testator
Well, not wisely, loved the "cratur,"
More than that, had often been
In delirium tremens seen;
Secondly, because he signed
When he did not know his mind;
Third, because pollicitation
Is not good consideration.
Law, of justice independent,
Gave its judgment for defendant.
Poorer than he was at first,
That unhappy plaintiff cursed,
With a special satisfaction
Cursed the day he brought his action.
Would that he'd in India tarried!
Would that he had never married!
He, alas, is tied for life
Pauper to a pauper wife,
Scarce consoled that on his name
Equity reports shower fame,
Bearing down to endless ages
Dashwood's story on their pages.

EX PARTE JONES

Oh for the wily infant who married the widow and made
Profit of coke and of breeze, and never a penny he paid!
Oh for the Corporation of Birmingham cheated and snared,
Taking orders for coke that the widow and infant prepared!
Oh for the Court of Appeal, and oh for Lords Justices three!
Oh for the Act that infants from contracts may shake themselves free!
Oh for the common law with its store of things old and new!
Birmingham coke is good and good Coke upon Littleton too.

FINLAY v. CHIRNEY

When love-sick man descends to folly
And gets engaged, he must not stray,
The jury takes the part of Polly,
And if he jilts her, he must pay.

The only way his fault to cover,
From damages and costs to fly,
To leave his jilted lady-lover
Without an action is—to die![L]

POLLARD v. PHOTOGRAPHIC COMPANY

"Shall I take your photograph, my pretty maid?"
"You may if you like, kind sir," she said.

"Do you like your photograph, my pretty maid?"
"It is more than flattering, sir," she said.

"I'll publish your photograph, my pretty maid."
"Indeed but you won't, kind sir," she said.

"As a Christmas card, my pretty maid."
"The very idea, kind sir!" she said.

"But what if I've done it, my pretty maid?"
"I'll get an injunction, sir," she said.

"The law is with you, my pretty maid,"
The learned judge of the Chancery said.

"You have proved the negative, my pretty maid,
A difficult thing in law," he said.

THE MINNEAPOLIS CASE

Kind reader, tarry here, nor miss
The law of Minneapolis.
There was a carpenter called Brown,
A citizen of that great town,
Who stood his "inexpressive she"
A dollar's worth of comedy.
Was it a Gaiety burlesque,
Or labour of Norwegian desk?
Or did they spout in stagey tones
Morality by H. A. Jones?
Or tear romance to rags and set it
In heavy platitudes by Pettit?
I know not, and it matters not,
The subject I have clean forgot.
Sufficient that the pair did sit
In expectation in the pit,
An expectation not fulfilled,
'Twas otherwise by fortune willed.
Before this loving couple sat
In solitary state a hat—
A hat, I say, for in their wonder
They never noticed what was under,
The wearer must have been a "human,"
But might have been a man or woman.
'Twas like a mountain crowned with trees
Amid the pathless Pyrenees,
Or like a garden planned by Paxton,
Or colophon designed by Caxton,
So intricate the work; and flowers
Were trained to climb its soaring towers,
Convolvulus and candytuft,
And 'mid them water-wagtails stuffed.
Such splendour never yet, I wis,
Had shone in Minneapolis.
But Brown was in a sore dilemma,
A dollar he had paid for Emma
To see a play, and not a hat;
A dollar, it was dear at that.
And Emma—disappointment racked her,
She never saw a single actor.
So Brown, with visage thunder-black,
Demanded both his dollars back.
The man who took the cash said, "Sonny,
Our rule is not to give back money.
But if you'll come another night,
Maybe you'll get a better sight."
So Brown went home and nursed his sorrow,
His writ he issued on the morrow.
A hundred dollars was his claim,
And the young lady claimed the same.
The case was argued, on revision
Of pleadings, this was the decision:
"The theatre's defence is bad,
Brown paid for what he never had,
He paid when in the pit he sat
To see a play and not a hat.
To bring defendants to their senses,
I find for plaintiffs with expenses."
Justitiæ columna sis,
Wise judge of Minneapolis!

COMMONWEALTH v. MARZYNSKI

Against the statutes of the Old Bay State
Marzynski on a Sunday stood behind
His counter, well content his gain to find
In pipes not pills, cigars not carbonate.
From breakfast till 'twas dusk at half-past eight
Tobacco cheered this hardened sinner's mind,
The price of it his pockets, disinclined
To add their dime to the collection plate.
The State Attorney claimed the penalty;
"Cigars are no cigars," said the defence,
"But drugs, and we have witnesses to prove it."
"Cigars to be cigars judicially
We notice, and reject the evidence."
So said the Court, and spat, and nought could move it.

Translations

GREEK ANTHOLOGY

X. 48

Woe to the house whose mistress was a slave!
So say old saws, my own in aid I crave;
Woe to the court whose judge once spake for fees,
Though he were readier than Isocrates!
An advocate that pleaded once for pelf
Scarce on the bench forgets his former self.

Palladas.

XI. 75

This Olympicus of old
Had, Sebastus, I am told
Quite his share of upper gear,
Nose and chin and eye and ear.
All he lost, and by his fist—
He became a pugilist.
Loss of members with it drew
Loss of patrimony too.
When his birthright he would claim,
Into court his brother came
With a portrait, saying, "Thus
Looked the old Olympicus."
None could any likeness see,
Disinherited was he.

Lucillus.

XI. 141

A pig, a goat, an ox I lost:
I want them back at any cost,
And so retained, O woful fate!
Menecles for my advocate.
But tell me, will you, what have these
In common with Othryades?
The heroes of Thermopylæ
Have nought to do with theft from me.
Against Eutychides I bring
My action for a trivial thing.
Let Xerxes rest a little space,
And leave the Spartans in their place.
For if you don't put all this by
I'll go into the streets and cry,
"The voice of Menecles is big,
But what about my stolen pig?"

Lucillus.

The Spinning-House of the Future

How we found our Verdict

A Greek Libel

Le Temps Passé

Lawn Tennis in the Temple Gardens

A Ballade of Lost Law

Comœdia Juris

Cases

Cases

MYLWARD v. WELDON

HAMPDEN v. WALSH

WILLIS v. THE BISHOP OF OXFORD

DASHWOOD v. JERMYN

EX PARTE JONES

FINLAY v. CHIRNEY

POLLARD v. PHOTOGRAPHIC COMPANY

THE MINNEAPOLIS CASE

COMMONWEALTH v. MARZYNSKI

Translations

Translations

GREEK ANTHOLOGY

X. 48

XI. 75

XI. 141

XI. 143

XI. 147