James Williams

    In days of old did law and rime
        A common pathway follow,
    For Themis in the mythic time
        Was sister of Apollo.

    The Hindu statutes tripped in feet
        As daintily as Dryads,
    And law in Wales to be complete
        Was versified in triads.

    The wise Alfonso of Castile
        Composed his code in metre
    Thereby to make its flavour feel
        A little bit the sweeter.

    But law and rime were found to be
        A trifle inconsistent,
    And now in statutes poetry
        Is wholly non-existent.

    Still here and there some advocate
        Before his fellows know it
    Has had bestowed on him by fate
        The laurel of the poet.

    Let him who has been honoured so...

    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.

    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.

    I am a "coach" in Roman law by fate,
        But Nature must have meant me for a poet,
    And while I struggle with a rule or date,
        Poetic thoughts intrude before I know it.

    The changing sunshine on the summer sea
        Drives forth the law of cessio bonorum,
    Peculium castrense speaks to me
        Of Horace and his Dulce et decorum.

    I see the matine bee among the flowers
        Instead of testamentum militare,
    And wander far away from agent's powers
        To picture me again some Maud or Mary.

    In truth there is no sequence in the thought,
        Why should the title De Societate
    Suggest, not trading partners, as it ought,
        But visions of my last night's valse wit...

    Somewhere in a distant star,
    Cities of Cocaigne there are,
    Paradises of the Bar.

    Somewhere 'neath another sun
    Counsel cease to see the fun
    Lurking in a judge's pun.

    Somewhere courts are fair to see,
    Beauty joins utility,
    Ushers answer courteously.

    Somewhere there are bailiwicks
    Which for dock defences fix
    Nothing under three-five-six.

    Somewhere rises struggle sore
    For revisorships no more,
    Every shire has half a score.

    Somewhere educated thought
    Scientifically taught
    Cross-examines as it ought.

    Somewhere judgments are obeyed,
    Executions are not stayed,
    Fees are almost always paid.

    Somewhere County Councils p...

    A thousand doubts and pleadings in a day
        Are filed in Empress Reason's court supreme
        By angry Love--his eyes with anger gleam.
        "Which of us twain hath been more faithful, say.
    'Tis all through me that Cino can display
        The sail of fame on life's unhappy stream."
        "Thee," quoth I, "root of all my woe I deem,
        I found what gall beneath thy sweetness lay."
    Then he: "Ah, traitorous and truant slave!
        Are these the thanks thou renderest, ingrate,
        For giving thee a maid without a peer?"
    "Thy left," cried I, "slew what thy right hand gave."
        "Not so," said he. The judge, "Your wrath abate.
        I must have time to give true judgment here."

                                               ...

(Tried in Minnesota in 1892)

    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, ...

    Glory and gain thus mixed distract the thought,
    We owe to honour all, to fortune nought;
    The poet, like the soldier, scorns for pay
    Peruvian gold, but seeks the wreath of bay.
    How is the advocate the poet's peer?
    The poet's glory is complete and clear;
    He far outlives the advocate's renown,
    Patru is e'en by Scarron's name weighed down.
    The bar of Greece and Rome you point me out,
    A bar that trained great men, I do not doubt,
    For then chicane with language void of sense
    Had not deformed the law and eloquence.
    Purge the tribune of all this monstrous growth,
    I mount it, and my soul will sink, though loth,
    Will yield to fortune and will speak in prose.
    But since reform in this so slowly grows,
    Lea...

    "Cada puta hile."--Don Quixote, i. 46.


    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]

    We crawled about the nursery
        In tenderest years in tether,
    At six we waded in the sea
        And caught our colds together.

    At ten we practised playing at
        A kind of heathen cricket,
    A croquet mallet was the bat,
        The Squire's old hat the wicket.

    At twelve, the cricket waxing slow,
        With home-made bow and arrow
    We took to shooting--once I know
        I all but hit a sparrow.

    She took birds' nests from easy trees,
        I climbed the oaks and ashes,
    'Twas deadly work for hands and knees,
        Deplorable for sashes.

    At hide and seek one summer day
        We played in merry laughter,
    'Twas then she hid her heart away,
        I never found it after....

    Tell me, proud Rome, why dost these edicts read,
        These many laws by prince or people made,
        Or answers by the prudent duly weighed,
        When now thou canst the world no longer lead?
    Thou readest, sad one, of each ancient deed
        Where thy unconquered sons their might displayed,
        Afric and Egypt at thy feet were laid,
        But slavery, not rule, is now thy meed.
    What boots it that thou wast of old a queen,
        And over foreign nations heldest rein,
        If thou and all thy fame no more exist?
    Forgive me, God, if all my days have been
        Devoted to man's laws, unjust and vain
        Unless Thy law within the heart be fixed.

                                                                Cino da Pistoi...