THE

HALL OF JUSTICE.

PART I.

Confiteor facere hoc annos; sed et altera causa est

Anxietas animi, continuusque dolor.

OVID.

MAGISTRATE, VAGRANT, CONSTABLE, &c.

VAGRANT.

TAKE, take away thy barbarous hand,
And let me to thy master speak;
Remit awhile the harsh command,
And hear me, or my heart will break.

MAGISTRATE.

Fond wretch! and what canst thou relate,
But deeds of sorrow, shame, and sin?
Thy crime is prov'd, thou know'st thy fate;
But come, thy tale! begin, begin!-

VAGRANT.

My crime! this sick'ning child to feed,
I seiz'd the food, your witness saw;

I knew your laws forbad the deed,
But yielded to a stronger law.

Know'st thou, to nature's great command, All human laws are frail and weak? Nay! frown not-stay his eager hand, And hear me, or my heart will break.

In this, th' adopted babe I hold,

With anxious fondness to my breast, My heart's sole comfort, I behold, More dear than life, when life was blest, I saw her pining, fainting, cold, I begg'd-but vain was my request.

I saw the tempting food, and seiz'd-
My infant-sufferer found relief;
And, in the pilfer'd treasure pleas'd,
Smil'd on my guilt and hush'd my grief.

But I have griefs of other kind,

Troubles and sorrows more severe; Give me to ease my tortur'd mind, Lend to my woes, a patient ear; And let me-if I may not find

A friend to help find one to hear.

Yet nameless let me plead-my name
Would only wake the cry of scorn;
A child of sin, conceiv'd in shame,
Brought forth in woe, to misery born.

My mother dead, my father lost,
I wander'd with a vagrant crew;
A common care, a common cost,

Their sorrows and their sins I knew ; With them, on want and error forc'd, Like them, I base and guilty grew.

Few are my years, not so my crimes;
The age, which these sad looks declare,
Is sorrow's work, it is not time's,
And I am old in shame and care.

Taught to believe the world a place,
Where every stranger was a foe,
Train'd in the arts that mark our race,
To what new people could I go?
Could I a better life embrace,

Or live as virtue dictates? No!

So through the land, I wandering went,
And little found of grief or joy ;

But lost my bosom's sweet content,
When first I lov'd, the Gipsy-boy.

A sturdy youth he was and tall,

His looks would all his soul declare, His piercing eyes were deep and small,

And strongly curl'd his raven-hair.

Yes, Aaron had each manly charm,
All in the May of youthful pride,
He scarcely fear'd his father's arm,
And every other arm defied.-
Oft when they grew in anger warm,
(Whom will not love and power divide?)
I rose, their wrathful souls to calm,
Not yet in sinful combat tried.

His father was our party's chief,

And dark and dreadful was his look, His presence fill'd my heart with grief, Although to me, he kindly spoke.

With Aaron I delighted went,

His favour was my bliss and pride; In growing hope our days were spent, Love, growing charms in either spied, It saw them, all which nature lent, It lent them, all which she denied.

Could I the father's kindness prize,

Or grateful looks on him bestow; Whom I beheld in wrath arise,

When Aaron sank beneath his blow!

He drove him down with wicked hand,
It was a dreadful sight to see;

Then vex'd him, till he left the land,

And told his cruel love to me ;