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Of throwing squibs to scorch his legal brethren And blind them in the practice of their trade; And lastly pick from out the poor sweep's case Its germ of truth long hidden in the dust. Next, Simon Settlor, with his hasty step, And mind well-stuffed with legal provender Of rules and usages and state reports; Who deems his thesis an explosive bomb That, when he's fired it off, will surely shatter The many froward errors of the law, — A nostrum for the cancer spots that gnaw The breast of Justice 'neath her mantle fold; Who dreams in him the soul of Webster dwells, Tho' yet inglorious and to fame unknown; Who pines impatient for the day to come When he may like an eagle spread his wings And mount to glory in the legal skies; — And from his sheep-skin get a golden fleece; Whose moot-court case is a momentous thing, Fraught with grave issues and the bays of fame; There with a disputatious flood of words, He beards the judge on points of evidence, And sweeps with tongue persuasive all before himUnconscious that he uses borrowed Brougham. Next Lewis Lawyer, newly dubbed B. L., Who sighs like a furnace that is full of Coke; Who woos his coy, capricious mistress, Law, That lightly holds him, playing fast and loose With his devotion and his awkward suit; Who idly drums upon the window pane, While clients that were looked for never come. Then next Charles Counsellor, adorned with scars Won lawfully in midst of wordy wars; The wily soldier of the legal field; Followed by witnesses that swear strange oaths; Jealous of others, ready and quick in quarrel, Seeking to win a judgment even against The canons mouth; calling his rival, " brother" But oftener cozening him.