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NO court allows those partial interlopers
Of Law and Equity, two single paupers,
T'encounter hand to hand at bars, and trounce
Each other gratis in a suit at once :
For one at one time, and upon free coft, is
Enough to play the knave and fool with justice ;
And, when the one side bringeth custom in,
And th’ other lays out half the reckoning,
The devil himself will rather chuse to play
At paltry small-game than fit out, they say ;
But when at all there 's nothing to be got,
The old wife, Law and Justice, will not trot.

THE law, that makes more knaves than e'er it hung, Little considers right or wrong; But, like authority, 's foon fatisfy'd When 'tis to judge on its own fide.

THE law can take a purse in open court, Whilst it condemns a lefs delinquent for 't.

WHO can deserve, for breaking of the laws, A greater penance than an honest cause ?

ALL those that do but rob and steal enough,
Are punishment and court of justice proof,
And need not fear, nor be concern'd a straw,
In all the idle bugbears of the law,
But confidently rob the gallows too,
As well as other sufferers, of their due.


OLD laws have not been fuffer'd to be pointed,
To leave the sense at large the more disjointed,
And furnish lawyers, with the greater eafe,
To turn and wind them any way they please.
The Statute Law 's their Scripture, and Reports
The ancient reverend fathers of their courts;
Records their general councils ; and Decisions
Of judges on the bench their fole traditions,
For which, like Catholics, they ’ve greater awe,
As th' arbitrary and unwritten law,
And strive perpetually to make the standard
Of right between the tenant and the landlord ;
And, when two cases at a trial meet,
That, like indentures, jump exactly fit,
And all the points, like Chequer-tallies, suit,
The Court directs the obstinat'st dispute ;
There 's no decorum us'd of time, nor place,
Nor quality, nor perfon, in the case,

A MAN of quick and active wit
For drudgery is more unfit,
Compar'd to those of duller parts,
Than running-nags to draw in carts.

TO O much or too little wit
Do only render th' owners fit
For nothing, but to be undone
Much easier than if they 'ad none.

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AS those that are stark blind can trace
The nearest ways from place to place,
And find the right way easier out,
Than those that hood-wink'd try to do t';
So tricks of state are manag'd best
By those that are suspected least,
And greatest finesse brought about
By engines most unlike to do 't.

ALL the politics of the great
Are like the cunning of a cheat,
That lets his false dice freely run,
And trusts them to themselves alone,
But never lets a true one stir
Without fome fingering trick or llur ;
And, when the gamesters doubt his plays
Conveys his false dice safe away,
And leaves the true ones in the lurch,
T'endure the torture of the search.

WHAT else does history use to tell us,
But tales of subjects being rebellious ;
The vain perfidiousnefs of lords,
And fatal breach of princes' words ;
The fottish pride and insolence
Of statesmen, and their want of sense ;
Their treachery, that undoes, of custom,
Their own selyes first, next those who trust them?



BECAUSE a feeble limb's carest,
And more indulg'd than all the rest,
So frail and tender consciences
Are humour'd to do what they please ;
When that which goes for weak and feeble
Is found the most incorrigible,
To outdo all the fiends in hell
With rapine, murther, blood, and zcal.

AS at th' approach of winter all
The leaves of great trees use to fall,
And leave them naked to engage
With storms and tempests when they rage;
While humbler plants are found to wear
Their fresh green liveries all the year :
So, when the glorious season 's gone
With great men, and hard times come on,
The great'st calamities oppress
The greatest still, and spare the less.

AS when a greedy raven sees
A sheep entangled by the fleece,
With hasty cruelty he flies
T'attack hini, and pick out his eyes ;
So do those vultures use, that keep
Poor prisoners fast like filly sheep,
As greedily to prey on all
That in their ravenous clutches fall :
For thorns and brambles, that came in
To wait upon the curse for sin,

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And were no part o' th' first creation,
But, for revenge, a new plantation,
Are yet the fitt'st materials
T'enclose the earth with living walls.
So jailors, that are most accurft,
Are found most fit in being work.

THERE needs no other charm, nor conjurer,
'To raise infernal spirits up, but fear;
That makes men pull their horns in like a snail,
That 's both a prisoner to itself, and jail ;
Draws more fantastic shapes than in the grains
Of knotted wood in fome men's crazy brains,
When all the cocks they think they fee, and bulls,
Are only in the insides of their sculls.

THE Roman Mufti, with his triple crown, Does both the earth, and bell, and heaven, own, Beside th’ imaginary territory, He lays a title to in Purgatory ; Declares himself an absolute free prince In his dominions, only over fins; But as for heaven, fince it lies so far Above him, is but only titular, And, like his Cross-keys badge upon a tavern, Has nothing there to tempt, command, or govern: Yet, when he comes to take accompt, and share The profit of his prostituted ware, He finds his gains increase, by fin and women, Above his richest titular dominion,


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